


The Firebolt

by ValiantGinger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Auror Training, Canon Compliant, Diagon Alley, Dursley Bashing, Eavesdropping, Gen, Grimmauld Place, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, House Elves, Invisibility Cloak, Letters, Owls, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Rebuilding Hogwarts, Recovery, Redeemed Dudley Dursley, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValiantGinger/pseuds/ValiantGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle is over, and Harry Potter has thrown himself into helping in any way he can. After a few different authority figures in his life point out how ragged he's wearing himself, Harry agrees to take a holiday and distance himself from the wizarding world. With the pretense of a mission and the promise of a purpose once he's relaxed, Harry departs Hogwarts. At first, the time away is a blessing, but Harry soon realizes that even the Muggle world has a hold on him, and he's got unfinished business there as well. He can't return to the wizarding world to start building a future until he's done making peace with everything that's come before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I re-read all of Harry Potter recently, re-watched all the films, and read Cursed Child. I'm thoroughly steeped in a Harry Potter phase at the moment, and there is not enough of the sort of post-Battle of Hogwarts fic I want, so I'm writing my own. Tags will update as the fic updates.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [ValiantGinger](valiantginger.tumblr.com).

There were so many tasks to attend to after the battle that no one really had a good idea of where to start. Those who had fought were too weary to launch into a full scale repair of their world. The ones who hadn't fought, the rest of the wizarding world at large, were too shocked at the realization that it was over to even consider what would come next. 

First, the dead had to be buried and memorialized. That was a far more extensive logistical challenge than might have been expected, but Hermione Granger and Professor McGonagall teamed up to complete the task with unanimous support from those left standing. In tandem with their effort to deliver the deceased to remaining family members, the two women also drew up plans for both the memorial service and a memorial monolith, inscribed with the names of those who fell.

Harry Potter, having now completed his destiny, watched all of the proceedings with a sort of detachment. He helped anyone that required the extra hands or wand, but the actions felt hollow and purposeless, even when he knew full well how purposeful they were. Over the week following Voldemort's death, Harry found himself repairing castle walls, helping Aurors deliver the dead to their family, and preparing documents about the battle and the casualties for Ministry records.

It was Molly Weasley who eventually put her foot down, yanking Harry away from a large group of people rebuilding one of the staircases.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry started, intending to argue with her, but he stopped as soon as he caught sight of her expression.

"Harry dear, you cannot fix everything You-Know-Who destroyed by sheer force of will." Her face was stern, but with the undercurrent of love that Harry had always felt from her.

"I know that," Harry countered, though he didn't really have any arguments against her assumption of his intent. "If I don't do something though, I'm just going to end up wallowing, and I can't do that." What exactly he would be wallowing in, he couldn't say. Grief was there, but it was washing over him in sporadic waves. The larger sensation he was dodging was the sense of uselessness he now felt. Voldemort was dead. Harry had fulfilled the prophecy. What came next was anybody's guess, and Harry was not ready to give the topic proper thought.

Mrs. Weasley considered him for a moment, then nodded her understanding. "All right, well, I'm going to insist that you go take a break then. Just for a bit. If you feel that it's too much, you can come find yourself a job again, but I've watched you work yourself ragged for days now, and I'm not going to stand for it. Find someplace quiet and rest. Please, Harry."

Harry couldn't argue against genuine concern for his well fare, so he just nodded, watching as Mrs. Weasley moved off in the general direction of the kitchens. The kitchens, at least, had survived intact. In fact, nearly all of the house elves had returned to work the moment the battle was over. Hermione had been shocked to discover as much, but after a visit to the kitchens was forced to admit that the house elves genuinely wanted to be there. As one elf had put it, preparing the food was the least they could do to benefit those who had fought to save the world.

That was just one of any number of humbling things Harry had heard since the final confrontation. His friends and those he considered family knew him well enough to know not to heap praise upon his shoulders, but nobody else seemed to understand how that sort of thing made him feel. In that way, Mrs. Weasley's suggestion of a quiet place to rest was an enticing one. He could return to his bed in Gryffindor tower, but any number of people knew to find him there if they needed him, and being found wasn't as appealing at the moment as it would have been earlier. Now that he was considering a break, he found that he wanted a moment's peace more than anything.

"Potter?" Professor McGonagall's voice came from behind him, and Harry turned to see the older woman standing with a large bundle of scrolls. "Are you all right?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Professor McGonagall, more so than perhaps anyone else, had made Harry feel incredible normal in the last few days, and he was overwhelmingly grateful to her for it. He wasn't the saviour, the hero, or the Chosen One to her. He was just Harry Potter, her slightly troublesome Gryffindor student. Or, perhaps, he was all of the above, and she just knew better than to remind him of it.

Smiling at her, Harry nodded. "Yeah, just thinking. Mrs. Weasley's making me rest a bit before she'll let me get back to work. She thinks I'm doing too much."

Professor McGonagall made a noise that might have been a snort of amusement. "Yes, well, you are. Where exactly are you planning to sequester yourself?" She knew as well as he did how unlikely he was to find peace in a castle full of people singing his praises.

Harry blinked at her and gave a helpless shrug. "I've no idea," he admitted.

Her lips twitching in amusement, Professor McGonagall gestured for him to follow her. "I think you'll find my new study comfortable enough," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Harry almost stopped in his tracks, but decided to go along with her anyway. In a unanimous move that surprised no one, Professor McGonagall had been named headmistress of Hogwarts. Really, with the school year having been interrupted as it had been, who was in charge didn't really matter, but it made everyone feel better knowing that the school was officially in good hands. Professor McGonagall had split her time between dealing with all the logistics of the memorials and organizing school repairs. Her new office, once Dumbledore's, had only needed a few repairs, and once fixed had remaining largely unused since her appointment. She and Hermione had taken to working on the move, as either one of them was constantly being called away to help somewhere else.

"I did change the password," she admitted, looking a little hesitant and glancing in Harry's direction as though worried he might object.

"Of course," Harry allowed, not surprised in the slightest. He doubted very much that Professor McGonagall intended to use names of sweets for passwords, and he was proven correct as they arrived in front of the freshly repaired gargoyle that guarded the study.

"Harry James Potter," she said clearly to the gargoyle, before turning to Harry with a raised eyebrow as the entrance opened. She seemed to be daring him to make a comment.

Coming from anyone else, that sort of obvious commendation would have made Harry uncomfortable. Coming from Professor McGonagall, it was nothing more than an honour. "Thank you," he told her fervently, knowing she would recognize it as gratitude for both the use of the study and the recognition she had given him.

"Of course, Potter," Professor McGongagall replied, a small smile on her lips. She turned and walked away with her scrolls, leaving Harry in the entry to the study.

"Back again?" A few paintings asked him. All of the former headmasters and headmistresses who were awake were looking at him with keen interest.

Harry had expected that, but the paintings didn't feel as invasive as the actual people in the castle did. "Professor McGongagall suggested it. Apparently I've been working too hard." His eyes strayed to Dumbledore's painting, and he was both relieved and disappointed to find the former headmaster asleep. There was a blank space on the wall near Dumbledore's portrait that was already reserved for a portrait of Severus Snape, but the painting hadn't been completed yet. Professor McGongall expected to be able to add it to the office soon. Again, Harry was both relieved and disappointed to not be able to speak to Snape either. He both craved the opportunity to speak to his former professor and hoped to never have to speak to him.

Those were not the sort of thoughts that would allow him to rest, so Harry ignored the paintings and took a seat in one of the many empty chairs, studying the grandeur of the study around him. He'd always liked this room. It was intimidating because it had been Dumbledore's, but there was so much to look at and such endless fascination in the room that it had always inspired curiosity in him. Professor McGonagall hadn't really changed anything yet, other than preparing a space for Snape's portrait. Harry wondered if she would leave the study as it was in honour of Dumbledore, as Snape had done, or if she would make it her own. Harry suspected there would be some combination of the two paths. After all, Dumbledore wouldn't want his metaphorical ghost preventing anyone from moving on.

"So, when are you taking your holiday?" One of the paintings asked. It was a sort of round man with an especially large chin and expressive eyes. His nose was almost as wide as his mouth, and he had more laughter lines than nearly anyone Harry had ever seen before. The young wizard had no idea whose portrait it was, but it didn't really matter.

"There's too much to do," Harry explained to the painting. "I'm just here for a breather, then I'll be back to work."

The painting clicked his tongue at Harry in disapproval. "Now, now, you've just had one of the most stressful years imaginable. You of all people deserve a break."

Harry felt a little insulted on behalf of the rest of the wizarding world. "People have died," he said shortly. "The castle's a wreck, the Ministry is trying to recover, and who knows how many other tasks need doing? I spent last year on the run. Yes, it was hard, and yes, it was worth it, but I don't get to go have a holiday just because I finally managed to complete my quest."

The man with the laughter lines was giving Harry an appraising look. "I believe that it is the best reason to have a holiday," he said firmly. He continued before Harry could argue with him, "There will be many demands of you now, will there not? I expect everyone will want a piece of the Chosen One, and you're the type of person to give all of yourself until you've nothing left. You should take some time to yourself before you wither away at the hands of all you've saved."

Harry wanted to debate the painting, but felt like he didn't quite have a leg to stand on. It was true, of course. He would do anything he could to help rebuild the wizarding world that had been so destroyed during Voldemort's time in power. Without someone to pull him aside and make him take a break, like Mrs. Weasley, he would probably end up helping until he dropped dead of exhaustion. Harry mulled over the idea in his head, still finding an aversion within him to the idea of taking a proper holiday.

"It's worth noting," the painting concluded, seeming to think he'd won, "that a holiday doesn't have to be a good lie in at a beach resort. Perhaps you should just take some time to go do something you really want to do."

That was the question then, wasn't it? Harry felt a sort of wry amusement as he considered it. What did he really want to do?

* * *

Harry didn't end up returning to the hustle and bustle of the castle until early evening, feeling genuinely refreshed from a few hours of quiet. He'd only just come down the stairs when he walked headfirst into Ron and George Weasley, who were deep in conversation.

"Hello, Harry!" George said brightly. He was alternating between moments of his old humour and moments of deep sadness, but seemed determined to allow the former to outweigh the latter. "Where've you been?"

"Your mum insisted I take a break," Harry admitted, scratching absently at the hair at the back of his neck. "I think she was probably right."

"She usually is," Ron agreed, looking a little envious at the idea of relaxing for a while.

"Did you have a good time introspecting?" George asked, giving Harry a look of intense appraisal that was offset by his smile.

Harry let out a short chuckle. "The paintings in the study seem to agree with your mum and Professor McGonagall. Apparently I'm working too hard and could do with some rest."

Ron shrugged. "Well you did save the bloody world," he pointed out dryly. "Seems like you could justify a little time off."

"I had help," Harry reminded Ron pointedly. "Besides, as I keep telling everyone, there's too much to do."

George rolled his eyes. "There's always going to be loads to do, Harry. If you do all of it now, you'll just drop dead. Then where will we all be?" His eyes widened in dramatic horror.

Ron interjected before Harry could. "Look, mate, I get what you're saying. We've all been working to rebuild, but you've been doing more than most of us combined. Why don't you talk to Kingsley? He's started helping Professor McGonagall break down who should be in charge of what, so a lot of people are going to be leaving the castle for other jobs soon anyway. I'm sure he can give you some advice regarding both a break and a reasonable job for you once you've relaxed a bit."

"I think you're meant to be calling him the Minister now," George said mildly.

"Oh, yeah," Ron agreed, not looking remotely chastised.

"Good idea," Harry said absently. He thanked the two ginger brothers and watched them continue on, hearing snatches of a conversation that seemed to be about Diagon Alley as they walked away.

Looking for Kingsley Shacklebolt was actually a good idea, and Harry was grateful for the sense of direction. Since being appointed Minister for Magic, Kingsley had been working overtime to both get the Ministry back into shape and organize everyone willing to help into actually useful teams of people. The question was where to find him. Harry could send his Patronus looking for him, but that seemed a little showy for a simple conversation. Most of the work in the castle had come to a halt for the evening meal, so Harry took a cursory lap around the corridors to make sure Kingsley wasn't still out working on something before he headed into the Great Hall. He spotted Hermione right away, deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall, which was normal now. He had other friends scattered throughout the room, but many of his fellow students had already been sent home to be with their families. Luna Lovegood, though she'd wanted to stay and help with the castle, had returned to her father once the battle was over. No one begrudged her that. Neville Longbottom and his grandmother were both still in the castle, helping with repairs. Harry had been concerned at first that all of the destruction caused by dark magic would be irreparable, but he'd been assured that Hogwarts had long been protected against the sort of permanent destruction dark magic might have the power to wreak elsewhere. The walls may have been destroyed, but they could be repaired. Professor McGonagall was adamant that the castle would be properly restored to its original glory.

Harry noted a few absences at the tables as he gazed about the room, but he knew where most of the people in question had gone. Back to their homes, to other jobs, or just away from the castle and the memories of war. The Malfoys, surprisingly enough, had remaining in the castle for nearly a full day before fleeing to their home. Harry hadn't spoken to any of them before they left, but he'd exchanged glances with Draco once or twice, and nodded once to Narcissa. He had an odd sense of gratitude and animosity towards them both, and he was willing to let that particular conflict end if they were. Lucius, on the other hand, Harry felt certain he would always hate. As he hadn't conversed with any of the Malfoys, it hadn't mattered. He'd likely see Draco at some point in the future, but it wasn't something he felt the need to dwell on.

Deciding to make his way towards Neville, Harry was halfway to his friend when he spotted Kingsley, sitting by himself at the end of one of the tables. He was near a few other Aurors and having cursory conversation with them, but wasn't actually eating with them.

"Mind if I sit?" Harry asked, approaching quickly.

Kingsley looked up, an expression of mild surprise on his face chased away by genuine welcome. "Of course. Please, join me."

Harry took the seat opposite the new Minister for Magic, not even blinking as his plate suddenly filled with his favourite foods. He didn't fully understand house elf magic, but he most definitely appreciated it.

"How can I help you, Harry?" Kingsley asked, giving Harry a curious once over.

Harry gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a split second before subtly pulling his wand out and murmuring, " _Muffliato_ ," at the Aurors. None of them so much as blinked, and Harry relaxed a little. He glanced up to see Kingsley raising an eyebrow at him, and Harry felt himself shrug. "Don't want to be overheard, I suppose."

"That's fair," Kingsley allowed. "Is this an important matter?"

"Not really. Or, well, just to me." Harry paused, tucking his wand away and trying to determine how to begin. "You're trying to assign wizards and witches to specific jobs, right? Give everyone something to do?"

Kingsley nodded, swallowing down a bite of mashed potatoes. "From what I've seen, Harry, you have no trouble finding work to keep you busy."

Harry nodded, feeling more resolved now that he realized even the Minister had noticed his actions. "About that. It seems a few people worried about my well being seem to think I need to take it easy for a while."

"I agree," Kingsley said, taking another bite of a few things on his plate and meeting Harry's gaze with a level stare.

"Right," Harry acknowledged, unsurprised. "See, the thing is, I don't want to just run off for myself when there's so much to do. One of the paintings in the headmaster's study - er, headmistress, I mean - said that a holiday can just be me doing something I want to do, but what I want to do is be helpful."

Kingsley chuckled. "Harry, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you could retire and never lift your wand again, and no one would care. You saved the world. Anything else is really just overkill."

Harry scowled. "That's the last thing I want to do."

"I know," Kingsley consoled him. "I know we don't know each other well, Harry, but I feel I've got the measure of you. If not from personal experience, certainly from hearing about your many virtues from those who cared about you."

Harry didn't need the past tense to know he meant Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin, and perhaps others as well. He cleared his throat, determined not to let grief sidetrack him just yet. "So what do I do? You're the Minister now. The Ministry's always had something they wanted me for. I mean, not that I've ever gone along with it, but if there was any administration I'd be likely to work for it'd be yours."

Kingsley laughed and shot Harry an appreciative grin. "I appreciate the support, Harry. As it happens, I was under the impression you wanted to become an Auror."

Harry looked startled at the reminder, but nodded. "Yeah. I took all the required classes last year, but obviously I never took my NEWTs."

"I think Professor McGonagall has a plan to catch up all the students who missed this past year at Hogwarts," Kingsley informed him, "but that's not really my concern. I'm perfectly happy to give you the necessary examination to introduce you as a junior Auror."

"When can I start?" Harry asked, excitement flooding him for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Kingsley shook his head and waved his fork in Harry's direction. "Not yet, Harry, I thought you needed a holiday first? I'm just letting you know that I've got a sense of purpose waiting for you when you've finished your sabbatical."

Harry made a face and glanced down, realizing he hadn't touched his dinner yet. He began to spear a few articles of food with the fork, then looked up at Kingsley. "If I'm going to take a break," he said, stressing the 'if,' "I need to be accomplishing something, and I need to be away from hordes of people that are going to want to thank me."

Kingsley looked sympathetic. "Harry, I imagine you'll be dealing with crowds like that for the rest of your life."

"I know that," Harry assured him quickly. "I don't even want to begrudge people the ability. It's just, if I need a break from anything, it's the overwhelming gratitude."

"Perfectly understandable," Kingsley assured him. "Why don't you take a week or so and go flying around the country? You can even make reports on what you see if you feel like pretending it's an assignment. I'm sure we could use that information in some department or other. You can use that cloak of yours to avoid attention."

Harry felt the sinking sensation in his stomach as he thought about his lost Firebolt for the first time in months. "I don't have a broom anymore," he admitted wearily. "I lost it that night everyone came to get me in Surrey."

Kingsley looked genuinely regretful at this news. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't realize. Sirius gave you that broom, didn't he?"

Harry nodded, a lump in his throat. He had some memories of his godfather besides the broom of course, but the broom was one of his favourite possessions, and a glimpse into the sort of life he could have had if everything had been different.

"Maybe that's your mission there, then," Kingsley mused, looking thoughtful. "We were attacked almost immediately upon take off, so you couldn't have lost it too far from the house."

"No, probably not. It's definitely within Surrey somewhere, at any rate," Harry acknowledged. "Do you really think I can find it?"

"It might be as simple as a summoning charm," Kingsley suggested. "I hear you've succeeded with that before." He winked at the younger wizard and returned his attention to his plate.

Harry twirled his fork around, considering the proposal. "It feels selfish," he finally said. "Leaving when everything's in chaos to go looking for my lost broom."

"Fine." Kingsley straightened up, and gave Harry a very serious look that felt like it might be pinning him to the bench. "Harry Potter, as Minister for Magic, I hereby order you to take a minimum of two weeks to go locate and recover your broom. At the end of those two weeks, you may report to the Ministry for Auror training, which I will conduct personally."

Harry felt a flood of affection for the Minister, who had in a few words given Harry exactly the justification he needed to get away from the wizarding world for just a little bit, knowing that he would return with both a purpose and a treasured possession. "Personally?" He asked, a little surprised by that addition. "The Minister has time to personally train new Aurors?"

Kingsley waved off the concern. "I've got two weeks to make the time," he said, not sounding concerned about it. "Besides, rebuilding the Auror Office is going to be a top priority within the Ministry. Having you alongside will only help. If you'd like, I can make an announcement that I've sent you on a mission for the Ministry, since I have. That'll keep people from worrying about your absence."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry said fervently. Catching Kingsley's stern glance, Harry coughed once and corrected himself, "Kingsley, I mean."

"Thank  _you_ , Harry," Kingsley returned, giving the younger wizard a parting wink before returning to his food.

Harry quickly reversed his earlier spell and devoured his dinner, realizing abruptly that he'd been starving. Once finished, he waved a final farewell to Kingsley before getting up to go find the people who needed to know he was leaving. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was still working with Professor McGonagall, but the headmistress took one look at Harry as he approached and said to Hermione, "Miss Granger, we've done quite enough for this evening. Why don't you join Mr. Potter, and we can resume this in the morning?"

Catching sight of Harry for the first time, Hermione looked surprised at first, then a little relieved. "Of course, Professor. Have a good evening." As Professor McGonagall walked away, Hermione raised an eyebrow to Harry. "Where do you want to go?"

Harry shrugged. "To find Ron, I suppose. I need to talk to you both. I need to talk to several people, actually, but I figured I ought to start with you two."

In the days following the end of the battle, all three of them had been neck-deep in as many opportunities to help as they could find. As a result, Harry hadn't seen a great deal of either of his best friends. He, perhaps better than anyone, understood their need to be productive and busy, so he hadn't gone out of his way to pull them away from any projects. Still, they deserved to know he was going to be gone. Plenty of people deserved to know, but Hermione and Ron were the people he knew he needed to talk to first.

It wasn't difficult to find Ron, largely because they encountered George not even a full minute after leaving the Great Hall.

"Mum snagged him for a chat about his plans for the future," George informed them with a snicker. "Dodged that conversation with all my usual grace and skill, of course. See you!" He left them in the corridor as he continued on in the direction they'd just come from.

"Have you noticed," Hermione murmured, still watching George, "that he's been going back and forth between mourning Fred and pretending to be both himself and Fred at once?"

Harry started, having not thought of George's mood swings in that way. "I have," he said, turning to watch George disappear around the corner. "I just hadn't thought about it like that. It's only been a few days; I'd be shocked if he was okay. I mean, I'm not, and we were only friends."

Resting her hand on his shoulder, Hermione gave Harry an encouraging smile. "Getting over loss is never easy," she said, with the wisdom Harry had long since come to rely on her for. "Everyone is going to be a little bit broken now, whether from a direct hit or the debris coming off of someone else. We'll all build each other back up, in the end."

"You ought to be a philosopher, Hermione," Harry told her with a wry smile, continuing on down the corridor in the direction George had pointed them. "You're wise beyond your years."

"Funny what living through a war will do," Hermione replied, a wistful expression crossing her face. "Hang on, I hear Mrs. Weasley. This way."

Harry followed his friend down another corridor, spotting Ron looking desperate for an escape and Mrs. Weasley looking increasingly annoyed.

"I don't understand why you can't just tell me what you're planning!" She huffed. "Professor McGonagall is going to great lengths to help students complete their education, and you're a fool to waste such an opportunity!"

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry interrupted, hoping to cut her off before she could reach full steam, although he sensed she was very nearly there. "Could I borrow Ron for a moment? I need to talk to him. Don't worry, you can have him back later." He hid a grin when he saw Ron's desperate look over his mother's shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley looked annoyed for a moment, but she relaxed and gave Harry a fond look. "Of course, Harry, I suppose that's all right. Merlin knows I need to calm down for a moment or two." Turning to her son, she poked a finger at him and said, "We're not finished, young man. Not by a long shot." She then turned and stalked away, her robs twirling behind her dramatically.

Harry turned on Ron with a broad grin. "You can't be thinking of leaving behind your education, Ron!" He said with mock horror.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron grumbled, though his own lips were twitching towards a smile.

"You aren't planning to take the advanced course of study for the NEWTs this summer?" Hermione asked, looking incredibly worried. She was asking Ron, but her eyes drifted to Harry as she spoke.

"Er..." Harry was saved having to immediately reply as Ron took the brunt of the question.

"It's the last thing I want to do," he stated bluntly, shrugging when Hermione gave him a chastising look. "OWLs were bad enough, and how am I meant to catch up on a year's worth of NEWT prep over the summer?"

An idea popped into Harry's head, and he realized he was going to have to track down Kingsley again before he left. No use getting Ron's hopes up before he'd talked to the Minister though, so Harry didn't vocalize his idea just yet.

"And you?" Hermione asked, turning on Harry.

"That's actually what I needed to talk to you about," Harry admitted. "I'm leaving." As he saw Ron and Hermione's eyes grow wide, he hastily added, "Only for a couple weeks."

"Did our acting Minister actually get you to agree to a holiday?" Ron asked, sounding both surprised and pleased.

"You're going on holiday?" Hermione echoed, clearly shocked. "What for?"

Harry gestured in the direction of the main door and started walking. "C'mon, let's go outside. I'll explain while we walk." They followed him without argument, and moments later they were on the lawn, which showed no signs of war having ever touched it. Professor Sprout had down an excellent job restoring all of Hogwarts' plant life to its original grandeur.

"So?" Hermione prompted. "Where are you going? For how long? Why?"

"Blimey, Hermione, one question at a time," Ron replied, rolling his eyes. "Go on then, Harry."

Harry sat on the lawn, his arms behind his back and his fingers splayed out in the grass. He motioned for them to join him. "Kingsley agreed with Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall that I've been working myself a bit ragged, so he's making me do something about it. He gave me a task to do, but he insisted I take two full weeks to do it. When I come back, he's going to take me on at the Ministry for Auror training."

Both Ron and Hermione looked surprised at that, particularly the second part. It was Hermione who spoke first. "But that's wonderful, Harry!" She exclaimed, seeming to warm to the idea almost immediately. "If you pass all of the Auror testing, it won't matter that you don't have your NEWTs. What's he got you doing during your time away?"

"Originally he wanted me to take a trip around the country by broom to just relax, but when he learned I'd lost my Firebolt during the escape from Privet Drive, he insisted I take two weeks to go find it." The longer Harry thought about it, the more excited he was about the idea. The Firebolt was one of the best things he'd ever owned, and he  _missed_  flying more than just about anything. The idea of getting it back, getting that piece of his relationship with Sirius back, was more exciting than he felt ready to fully admit.

He didn't have to explain for Ron and Hermione to understand though, and it was clear from their expressions that they did.

"You'll write?" Hermione asked, clearing asking what Ron had been wondering as well, if the look on his face was any indication.

"Of course," Harry affirmed immediately. "Probably not a lot, since part of the goal is to be away from the wizarding world for a bit, but yeah. I'll want to know what's going on here anyway."

"It's good you're getting away, mate," Ron informed him, looking pleased. "I know we've all been camping for the better part of the school year, but that doesn't really count as a proper holiday."

Harry snorted loudly, grinning at the description of their time on the run. Hermione looked disapproving at the humour, but didn't counter the description.

"Who else are you going to tell that you're leaving?" Hermione asked, her tone curious.

Harry glanced in the direction of Hagrid's hut, where smoke was curling from the chimney. "Hagrid, of course. He'd be hurt if I didn't tell him in person. Neville, because he deserves to hear it from me. I imagine Professor McGonagall's already realized. Kingsley told me he'd tell everyone I was on assignment from him, which is sort of true, so that just leaves Ginny."

Ron's head whipped towards Harry faster than even Harry had predicted, and he narrowed his eyes at his best friend. "You're not going to mess about with her," he stated, not leaving any room to interpret the statement as a question.

"Course not," Harry replied immediately, not bothering to be insulted by the potential assumption Ron was making. "I've not got any murderous dark wizards after me anymore, so I don't have to stay away to keep her safe. I won't string her along, Ron, I promise. I'm going to tell her exactly what I'm doing and where I'm going, and when I come back we'll talk about what happens next."

"She's already planning to stay here over the summer with me, to catch up on her studies so she can take her NEWTs next year," Hermione informed them both.

"You're both mental," Ron informed her, but his smile was fond as he said it. Turning back to Harry, he nodded once and said, "I trust you, Harry, but be careful with her, all right?"

"I will be," Harry assured him.

* * *

 

It was another half an hour of relaxing conversation before Ron and Hermione left to return to the castle, leaving Harry to visit Hagrid. He’d seen the gamekeeper at least once every day since the battle, but he had made an effort to spend more time with him whenever he could. Harry still felt dreadfully guilty about letting Hagrid believe for any length of time that he was dead, even though he’d technically done it to everyone in the castle. Doing it to Hagrid had been cruel of him, however necessary. The worst part was that Hagrid wasn’t even mad at him. He was too proud of Harry’s actions to be angry, which strangely made Harry feel even worse.

Over a cup of tea, Harry informed Hagrid of his plans and what Kingsley had told him regarding the chance to be an Auror that awaited him. Hagrid insisted that Harry most definitely needed the time off, and that he was going to be a brilliant Auror. Knowing that Hagrid was rooting for him, just as he’d always done, was a huge relief for Harry.

“Yeh jus’ defeated the mos’ powerful wizard there ever was, Harry.” Hagrid reminded him. “I reckon yeh’re goin’ ter be the best Auror the Ministry’s ever had!”

He stayed in Hagrid’s home for another hour, just chatting and doing his best to affirm with his every word and action that he was really alive. He wasn’t certain if Hagrid realized that was Harry’s goal in visiting him, but the gamekeeper seemed to appreciate the company, if nothing else, so Harry decided it was well worth it.

When he finally returned to the castle, intent on finding Neville, it was actually Kingsley that Harry found first.

“Ah, Harry, making your rounds?” the Minister asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“Something like that,” Harry agreed. “Can I ask a favour of you?”

Kingsley looked immediately intrigued. “What might that be?”

“It’s just, Ron’s been aspiring to be an Auror about as long as I have, and he’s not too keen on finishing up his NEWTs,” Harry explained, trying to decide exactly how to convey Ron’s potential to their Minister for Magic. Of course he was only acting Minister at the moment, but everyone knew it would be official soon.

“I see,” Kingsley mused. “I suppose you want to include him in your own training in two weeks?” He looked perfectly at home with the idea.

Harry felt a wave of relief. “Yes, if you’d be willing, that would be amazing. He’d be thrilled.”

“What about your other friend, Hermione Granger?” Kingsley asked, glancing around as if expecting to see her. “Does she aspire to the Auror Office as well?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not that it matters, as she’s planning to stay at Hogwarts to complete her NEWTs this summer.”

Kingsley nodded, seeming unsurprised. “Very well, I’ll have a chat with Ron the next time I see him. Good evening, Harry.” He strode off into the distance, looking every inch what Harry had always assumed a Minister for Magic ought to be.

Pleased with himself for potentially scoring Ron a job, Harry resumed his search for Neville. It didn’t take long, as Neville was rarely far from Professor Sprout. The two of them had managed the repairs to the grounds already, and had turned their attentions to setting all the classrooms to rights. Neville, instilled with confidence, was quite the handyman with spells. Professor Sprout was the perfect one for him to work with as well, as few people had more confidence in Neville’s talents than the Herbology teacher.

“Neville?” Harry called out, waiting until his friend had finished repairing a window before speaking. He had every confidence in Neville’s capabilities, but that didn’t mean he was going to surprise him mid-spell.

Neville jumped and spun in surprise, but thankfully didn’t magically react. “Oh! Harry, it’s you.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Harry nodded towards Professor Sprout. “If that’s all right with you, Professor.”

She waved him off, nodding to Neville that it was perfectly fine for him to take a break. Neville tucked his wand away and followed Harry to a quieter part of the corridor, his expression puzzled.

“Everything all right, Harry?” He asked, looking just a touch apprehensive.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry assured him. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone for a couple weeks. Kingsley’s going to tell everyone I’m off on assignment, but I felt like you deserved to hear it from me.”

Neville had a few different emotions flit across his face, the most notable being a sort of pride and general confusion. “You’re not going off on some dangerous mission alone, are you?” He asked warily.

“Nothing like that,” Harry replied, smiling in spite of himself at Neville’s concern. “I’m actually sort of being made to take a holiday.”

Neville grinned. “Well you deserve that at a minimum,” he agreed. “So why’s the Minister going to call it an assignment?”

Harry gave him a wry smile. “It’s sort of hard for me to wrap my head around taking a break from all this if I’m not going to be doing something with my time. Kingsley ordered me to take two weeks to go look for my Firebolt. I lost it when the Order moved me from the Durseleys before I turned seventeen.”

Comprehension settled on Neville’s face. “You loved that broom,” he observed thoughtfully. “That’s quite a good mission for you. Thanks for letting me know you were leaving. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re my friend, Neville,” Harry reminded him. “Everything I did in the battle would have been worthless if you hadn't killed the snake, even if everyone hasn’t quite figured that out yet. I wasn’t just going to disappear and not tell you.”

Neville shuffled a little, looking embarrassed. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.” Harry glanced around, but there was no one else in their immediate area. “You haven’t seen Ginny, by any chance, have you?”

“She was helping her brother catalog the paintings in need of refurbishment earlier,” Neville said. “They might still be on the staircases. Otherwise I’d check near the common rooms.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, moving off towards the main staircase. He knew Ginny hadn’t been with Ron, and George was not the sort to want to catalog paintings. Bill and Fleur had been commuting between their home and the castle to help where they could, but he was fairly certain they were already back home for the night. Charlie was already back in Romania, as his job needed him back more than the Order needed him in England. He was corresponding regularly with his mother though, who seemed to need fairly constant reassurance that her remaining children were all right. That just left Percy as Ginny’s helper, which made the most sense anyway. Cataloging paintings was exactly the sort of thing Percy would volunteer for.

Harry and Percy hadn’t actually spoken since Percy had returned for the battle, but Harry didn’t mind much. He’d never particularly got on with Percy, but most of what had been personal about Percy’s betrayal had long since ceased to be important to Harry in the grand scheme of things. If the Weasleys had forgiven their brother so easily, Harry didn’t see how he had any right to hold a grudge.

Thankfully, Neville’s information was accurate, and Harry found Percy and Ginny trudging up staircase after staircase, taking notes on any damage they came across in each individual painting. As Hogwarts had a colossal number of paintings, Harry expected the task would take them some time.

“Harry!” Ginny exclaimed, spotting him before he could call her name. She thrust the parchment and quill she was using into her brother’s hands, then ran down the staircase to meet him halfway, hugging him close and whispering fiercely, “You’d better have an excuse to get me away from here for a bit or I’m never speaking to you again.”

Harry refrained from laughing, but it was a near thing. “Percy,” he called up to the slightly frozen Weasley brother, “I need to talk to Ginny for a minute or two. Do you mind if I steal her away?”

“Er, no, I suppose not,” Percy replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Not willing to engage the prodigal Weasley at that moment, Harry gripped Ginny’s hand and tugged her the rest of the way down the stairs and into the closest doorway, which happened to be an empty classroom.

“Hey,” Ginny said, smiling softly. “Thanks for that. I’m glad Percy’s returned to us and all, but I’d forgotten just how crazy he makes me. I’d rather be rebuilding walls, but this is a task someone’s got to do.”

“How long is it going to take, do you think?” Harry asked, remembering the hundreds of paintings he’d seen during his six years in the castle.

Ginny made a face. “Too long. Days, if not weeks. Honestly, I think we should ask the ghosts to help, but Percy seems determined to be as helpful as he can be.”

“How is he?” Harry had hardly seen Percy since the battle, and at that time he’d been too focused on Fred to care who was around him.

“Penitent, mostly,” Ginny replied with a shrug. “I mean, we’ve all forgiven him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still a prat, and he’s aware of it. He’s especially weepy around George, which isn’t making the situation any better, really.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Harry murmured. It must be horrible, to reconcile with your family only to see one of them murdered just after.

“He’s also nervous about you,” Ginny added with a giggle, clearly determined to move them along to less traumatic subjects.

“Me? What for? I’m not mad at him.” Harry wasn’t shocked that Percy was nervous, but he was a little surprised. He didn’t think he’d given Percy any reason to be worried about him.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “At first I think he was just uncomfortable because of the whole being on the wrong side thing, but then Ron got to him and gave him ‘the real story’ about what happened two years ago, with Umbridge.” She made a face when she said Umbridge’s name, like she was smelling dung and rot at the same time and couldn’t decide which was worse.

“Ah.” Harry remembered the letter Percy had sent fifth year, implying that Harry might be violent and go after Ron if Ron dared speak against him. At the time it had been hurtful, even as Harry had tried to make it amusing, but it had been such a minor infraction in a world that had quickly devolved to become worse and worse. In the wake of Sirius’ death, what Percy Weasley thought of Harry meant less than nothing.

“He’ll get over it, I’m sure,” Ginny assured him, seeming to realize that Harry wasn’t particularly worried. “In any case, what did you need to tell me?” She’d been refreshingly normal in her interactions with him lately, not seeming to feel the need to pressure him into any sort of decision regarding their relationship, which was still technically on the break he’d initiated before going on the run.

It took Harry a moment to remember what he’d come found her to say. “Oh! Right, well, I’m going to be away. Just for two weeks, but I wanted you to hear from me. Kingsley’s going to tell everyone I’m on assignment.”

“What’s the assignment?” Ginny asked, her gaze level and not remotely surprised.

Harry cracked a smile. “He’s sending me to find my Firebolt.” Ginny knew he’d lost it and what it meant to him, so he left the explanation at that.

“Out on your own in the Muggle world?” She asked, a mildly speculative expression on her face.

Harry shrugged. “Away from the wizarding world is more the point, I think,” he clarified. After a beat, he added, “You don’t seem surprised by this.”

“Harry,” Ginny said, her tone confident and amused, “you’re about to spend the rest of your life being far more adored and revered than you ever have before. You’re going to throw yourself into helping everyone and living up to their ideas of their hero, and it’s going to exhaust you. If you don’t get away for a bit now, while you can, will you ever?”

A rush of affection for Ginny and how well she understood him flooded through Harry, and he pulled her in for a hug without comment, just holding her for a moment. When he released her, he cleared his throat and said, “Kingsley’s going to take me on at the Ministry when I get back, for Auror training.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ginny said, her excitement genuine. “You’ll be brilliant at it.”

“I hope so,” Harry said with fervor. “Hermione told me you’re staying here over the summer, to catch up the studies you missed so you can graduate on time.”

Ginny nodded. “There’s a chance I may be Quidditch Captain next year,” she told him with a wink.

“You’d deserve it,” Harry told her, meaning every word. “In any case, we’ll both be busy, but I’d like to see you when I can. We never really got around to doing the dating thing properly, but I want to try, now that we’re not in imminent danger.”

Ginny grinned at his description. “I knew we’d get there in the end,” she told him. “All that nobility wasn’t going to be necessary forever. Just think, all it took was a war!”

The humor towards the situation was just what Harry needed, and he properly laughed. “So I’ve checked grand gestures off the dating checklist, have I? Defeating a dark wizard did it for you?”

Ginny snorted. “Sure, Harry, you can have that one. Promise me though, when you get back with that Firebolt of yours, I want a date out on the pitch, just the two of us.” She winked at him.

“I promise,” Harry replied immediately. “Hogwarts will be my first stop.”

Leaning forward, Ginny gave him a chaste kiss, pulling away a moment later with a fond smile. “Enjoy yourself, Harry. I’ll be waiting.”


	3. Chapter 3

Professor McGonagall had allowed Harry to use one of Hogwarts’ fireplaces to get into London via the Floo Network. He could have walked into Hogsmeade and apparated from there, but he had elected to make another purposeful stop that was just as easily reached without traveling through a village full of people who wanted to congratulate him. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall hadn’t had any problem setting up the fireplace for him.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” Harry cried, tossing the powder into the fire as flames rushed up to claim him and transport him. He landed in the fireplace of his home with slightly more grace than he had in previous attempts, and dusted himself off as best as he could.

Hermione had been concerned that the Ministry would tear Sirius’ old home apart after their accidental delivery of Yaxley to their doorstep, but Harry couldn’t see anything out of order. He glanced around, observing that things looked more or less as they had the last time he’d been in the kitchen. Moving into the hall, he noted with shock that Sirius’ mother was gone.

“How…?” Harry murmured aloud, staring at the blank space of wall. The answer occurred to him a moment later, and he felt silly for not having checked on his house elf much earlier. He’d seen Kreacher during the battle, of course, but not after, and he’d been so busy he’d completely forgotten to check on him. He’d had the fleeting thought to call the house elf the night following his fight with Voldemort, but in the end he hadn’t bothered.

“Kreacher!” Harry called, waiting until he heard the audible ‘crack!’ that signified the house elf’s arrival.

“Master Harry!” Kreacher exclaimed, seeming more pleased to see the young wizard than Harry could ever remember. “Kreacher has heard much of Master’s bravery during the battle against the Dark Lord. Master Harry saved the world!”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, nodding his thanks. It figured that even his house elf would be honouring him. “I appreciate that. Look, Kreacher, have you been, er, cleaning around here?”

Kreacher looked proud of himself. “Kreacher knew that Master Harry hated all of the dark things in the house. As it is Master’s house now, Kreacher has been doing his best to remove the dark magic left behind.”

Harry was shocked by the admission, and more grateful than he could adequately convey. The part of him that wanted to hate Kreacher for betraying Sirius had started to fade when Kreacher first began warming to him, but knowing that Kreacher had so taken to Harry that he’d undone the dark magic left behind by the wizards he used to love was more atonement than Harry would have ever expected.

“Is Master pleased?” Kreacher asked, looking a little skeptical, as Harry had yet to respond.

“Oh, yes, Kreacher, of course I am. I had no idea you’d been working on the house. Er, did the Death Eaters ever come? After we broke into the Ministry, I mean.” Harry couldn’t see any sign that they had, but he supposed it was possible that Kreacher had fixed that too.

Kreacher made an irritated sound. “They tried,” he said with a growl.

Harry knew he looked surprised, but couldn’t seem to school his expression. “How’d you mean they tried?” He asked, bewildered. “You don’t mean to say you stopped them?” He knew house elves had their own powerful magic, but keeping out Death Eaters?

Looking affronted, Kreacher straightened a little and looked Harry as much in the eye as he was capable of, given the height difference. “Kreacher knew Master wouldn’t want dark wizards in the house, so Kreacher kept them out. They only tried a few times, and seemed to decide Master and his friends weren’t coming back anyway.”

Harry felt oddly guilty about having not returned, and apologized for it at once. “We were going to come back, Kreacher. When we realized that we’d accidentally brought Yaxley to the doorstep - er, when Hermione realized, anyway – we decided to stay away, just in case. I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to abandon you here.”

Kreacher dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand, though Harry thought he looked pleased at the apology. “When the Death Eaters came knocking, Kreacher guessed what had happened. Never fear, Master Harry.”

There was a pause, and Harry examined the clean space on the wall. Somehow everywhere he looked, the house seemed less grim. “So, got her off the wall,” he observed, gesturing towards the space where Sirius’ mum had previously spent her time screaming. “What else did you manage to do in here?”

Kreacher bowed low, the closest thing to a grin on his face that Harry had ever seen. “Allow Kreacher to give you the tour,” he announced.

Harry allowed himself to be led through his inherited home, and found himself shocked over and over again by how radically different it was. Nothing had really changed, of course, but the whole house seemed brighter now, with multiple mementos of the Black family completely absent.

The upstairs rooms were the same, decorated as they had been when Harry had explored them the last time he’d been there. Kreacher was quick to inform him, however, that should Harry wish to redecorate, Kreacher was more than capable of removing any and all permanent decorations on the walls.

“That’s all right, Kreacher,” Harry told him, casting a glance over Sirius’ room once more before shutting the door. “Maybe one day, but they’re fine this way for now.”

“Is Master Harry hungry?” Kreacher asked, leading the wizard back downstairs. “Kreacher can have a meal prepared in good time.”

Harry debated that for a moment in his head, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to eat now and go to Diagon Alley for supplies later, or do it the other way around. “That would be nice, Kreacher, thanks,” he ended up saying, taking a seat in the kitchen. “I’m not staying long, this time anyway, but I think I may come back here to stay in a couple weeks, now I know the walls don’t scream anymore.”

Kreacher made a noise that might have been amusement as he bustled around the kitchen. “Begging Master’s pardon, Kreacher will be right back.” The house elf vanished, only to reappear not quite two minutes later, holding an armful of groceries. “Just enough for dinner,” he announced.

“Oh, thanks,” Harry offered, not sure what else to say.

“So, Master Harry will come back to live in 12 Grimmauld Place?” Kreacher prompted as he worked.

Harry nodded immediately. “Yeah, I think I just might. I’m going to be away for a couple weeks, but when I get back I’m going to start Auror training at the Ministry.”

“Dark wizard catcher,” Kreacher affirmed, nodding slowly. “That does seem to be the perfect job for Master Harry.”

Harry felt oddly validated by that, and felt his lips quirk towards a smile. “Thanks, Kreacher. Anyway, the Ministry’s here in London, so I might as well live here. I mean, not that I couldn’t apparate in anyway, but this is my house, technically, so why wouldn’t I stay here?”

“Kreacher will be glad of the company,” the house elf said, poking at the stove as he arranged ingredients.

“You know, Kreacher…” Harry hesitated, not sure how what he’d just thought of would be received.

“Yes, Master?” Kreacher asked, turning to face Harry.

“It’s only, well, if you’re lonely or anything, when no one’s here I mean, you can always go visit the other house elves at Hogwarts, if you want. I don’t know if you like other house elves, but there’s quite a few there who’d be pleased to have you, I’m sure.” Harry felt awkward now that he’d said it, but it seemed to be a sort of kindness he could extend, especially since house elves often needed at least the suggestion of allowance or permission to do things. Kreacher had clearly been to Hogwarts before, if only for the battle, so Harry hoped encouraging him to visit other house elves would be seen as a token of good will. The last kindness Harry had attempted, Regulus Black’s locket, still rested on Kreacher’s chest.

Kreacher returned to his work, making a noise of consideration. “Many of the Hogwarts elves are younger than Kreacher,” he said, “but they are also quite jealous of Kreacher’s position.”

“How do you mean?” Harry asked, fiddling with a loose string on his robes. He’d meant to change into Muggle clothes, but hadn’t bothered yet. He supposed it could wait until he’d been to Diagon Alley.

“Kreacher works for Harry Potter,” the house elf said, his tone implying how unnecessary he found the clarification. “That makes Kreacher somewhat of a hero to the other elves.”

“Does it really,” Harry said, not at all shocked and yet somehow surprised by the news. Really, knowing that the Hogwarts house elves had a thing for him wasn’t any great announcement, not after knowing Dobby.

“It is a strange thing,” Kreacher continued, “to be idolized.”

Harry found himself nodding fervently. “Don’t I know it,” he agreed.

* * *

 

Eating a full meal and discovering the prospect of an actually livable home did wonders for Harry’s mood, and he found Kreacher to be reasonable pleasant conversation. He ended up spending a considerably longer amount of time at Grimmauld Place than he’d been intending, and realized abruptly that he’d need to be going if he had any hope of getting to Diagon Alley before all the shops closed. The ones that were open in the first place, at least. Harry knew from what George had said that at least a few had reopened in the wake of the battle’s end.

“I’ll come back here tonight, to sleep,” Harry informed Kreacher. “I’ll be off early tomorrow morning though.”

“Kreacher will have breakfast ready for Master Harry,” the house elf announced, seeming unbothered.

With that final interaction, Harry apparated off the front step, appearing in front of the Leaky Cauldron. He spared a thought for the Fidelis Charm that had protected the house he now owned. It couldn’t be working properly anymore, and he wasn’t at all convinced the house needed to be so completely hidden, but he’d need to talk to someone knowledgeable to discover what to do about it. Whatever the case, it was a matter for another day.

Upon entering the pub, Harry had the sudden thought that he should have been wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He had it with him, of course, a holdover from the year Dumbledore had insisted he carry it everywhere. He hadn’t thought to wear it though, and he found himself the subject of intense curiosity from the handful of people in the pub. Nobody spoke, so Harry took that as blanket permission to ignore everyone, heading straight for the wall that would take him to his actual destination.

Stepping into Diagon Alley was not quite as bad as it had been the last time Harry had been there. The day he’d broken into Gringotts, which was not nearly as long ago as it felt, the whole alley had felt dead. Today, it merely felt sleepy. Many shops were closed, but not all of them, and he noticed with a great deal of relief that the shops he intended to visit were indeed open.

Unfortunately, before Harry could go anywhere, he needed to replenish his supply of gold. That meant stepping foot into Gringotts, which he would have rather avoided. Still, not one to shy away from difficult circumstances, Harry made his way down the alley towards the bank.

The bank, much as it had been wrecked by Harry’s previous visit, seemed to have recovered well. It was by no means fully repaired, but it also didn’t look like an abused dragon had laid waste to it scarcely two weeks before.

“Harry?”

The wizard turned to see Bill Weasley, who looked properly shocked to see him.

“Oh, Bill. Hello. What are you doing in London?” Harry glanced around, automatically expecting to see Fleur, but she wasn’t with him. He’d hardly ever seen the two of them apart since the battle.

Bill was still looking at him with surprise. “Got called in to help with the restoration. Hogwarts didn’t need me for anything quite as specific, and I do technically work for Gringotts, so.” He let the sentence trail off, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “You know, there’s some rumor going around that you caused all of this.” He gestured to what Harry knew had been much greater devastation before.

Harry winced. “Is there proof?” He asked, keeping his tone mild. Getting involved in a trial for stealing a Horcrux from Gringotts was close to the last thing he needed right now.

Bill’s lips actually twitched towards a smile. “Not as such. I’d be looking for some sort of way to pacify the goblins though, if you can think of one. In the meantime, I’d better take you down to your vault. It’ll be safer that way.”

Harry, who had grown exhaustibly used to doing things in way that was specifically safer for him, didn’t argue.

Reaching the vault went as smoothly as ever, and Harry found with some surprise that the pile of gold was bigger than he remembered it being. Of course, it has been a while since he’d personally been inside his vault, but still…

“You all right?” Bill called, standing just outside the vault to be polite.

Harry felt the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just…”

Bill came into view, his brows drawn together. “You sure you’re all right?”

Harry gestured to the gold. “There was more, and it confused me at first, then I remembered – Sirius.”

The confusion cleared from Bill’s face. “He left you everything, didn’t he?”

Nodding, Harry blinked rapidly a few times and collected what he needed, plus a little extra just in case. It might be wise for him to avoid Gringotts for a bit.

Bill tactfully said nothing, and escorted Harry back to the surface without any incident. “Am I supposed to keep it quiet that you were here?” He finally asked, just as Harry was about to leave.

Harry blinked. “Not that I know of. I mean, it’s not a secret or anything.”

“Kingsley, or rather, the Minister, was just a little vague about your assignment, that’s all,” Bill clarified, looking a bit curious.

Harry cracked a smile. “Course he was. Well, tell anyone who’s worried not to be. It’s not dangerous or anything sneaky. I doubt it’ll even be difficult. I’m just here to get some supplies, since I’m going to be away from the wizarding world for a bit.”

Some understanding entered Bill’s expression, and he didn’t ask anything further. “Understandable,” was all he said, with a tone painfully similar to sympathy.

Waving farewell, Harry re-entered Diagon Alley, glancing at the open shops to try and decide where to go first.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry awoke with a start, confused when he didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. It took him a moment to recognize Sirius’ old bedroom. Relaxing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and studied the rucksack he’d left sitting on the floor. He’d managed to get just about everything he thought he would need for his trip, and now he just had to leave.

Getting dressed and making a cursory attempt to untangle his hair, Harry made his way downstairs, the rucksack over one shoulder. He was back in Muggle clothing, and feeling more confident about leaving the wizarding world for a while.

“Kreacher made scones,” the house elf announced before Harry had even entered the kitchen.

Indeed, there was a plate of scones sitting out on the table. Harry took one gratefully. “Thanks, Kreacher. I appreciate it.”

The house elf made a sort of shrugging motion. “It was no bother. Kreacher thought Master might take the rest with him.”

“Oh, right.” Harry reevaluated the rather large stack of scones. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Kreacher, thank you.”

“Have a good trip, Master Harry.” Kreacher vanished, off to presumably do whatever he’d been doing before Harry returned to Grimmauld Place.

“Right,” Harry mused aloud. “Time to get going, then.” He cast a charm to preserve the scones and bundled them into a bag before adding them to his rucksack, then headed out the front door.

Out of a lack of specific destinations to choose from, Harry had elected to apparate to the end of Privet Drive. He appeared just within sight of his old house, and froze for half a second.

“This is ridiculous,” he told himself, muttering under his breath. “You’re not even going in.” Turning away from number four, he walked to the corner of the road and turned right, moving away from Privet Drive altogether.

The main problem with the idea of hunting for his Firebolt was that Harry wasn’t certain where he’d been when it had fallen. The Death Eaters had attacked almost as soon as they took off, but you could cover a lot of ground in a very short amount of time on a magical motorbike.

“ _Accio Firebolt_!” Harry called out, wand in hand. It felt strange, holding his wand in Surrey of all places. He had before, of course, but never as a legal wizard.

Predictably, nothing happened, and after several minutes Harry decided nothing was going to happen. That could mean a few different things, and he started walking again as he considered them.

First, it was possible he just wasn’t close enough to his broom. Hermione seemed to think that distance wasn’t a factor in a proper summoning charm, but not everyone was as good at charms as she was. In the past, Harry had always found summoning easier when he was much closer to the item in question. Of course, he’d managed to summon his Firebolt during the Triwizard Tournament, something he typically tried not to think about, but he’d been in a life or death sort of situation. That always made a difference in what he felt he could accomplish.

The second option was that Harry hadn’t been focusing hard enough, which was also a possibility. He was fairly good at summoning charms, as charms went, but he did have to put a little more effort into them than Hermione usually did, so he figured his own ineptitude was worth considering.

The third option was that someone had put an anti-summoning charm on his broom to stop it being retrieved that way. Harry found this option highly unlikely, mostly because he couldn’t think of any reason someone would want to take his Firebolt hostage. Most of the Order didn’t even realize Harry had lost it. Harry had never really mentioned it to anyone, because in the wake of George’s ear, Mad-Eye’s death, and Hedwig’s death, it hadn’t seemed important.

Harry only had a vague idea of the direction he and Hagrid had flown in to reach the Tonks’ home, but they’d done quite a lot of looping through the sky to avoid Death Eaters. Digging into his rucksack, Harry retrieved a map of Surrey he’d found in one of the shops in Diagon Alley. It was actually a wizarding map of the whole of South England, but it had a fairly detailed layout of Surrey on it, being that it wasn’t far outside of London.

Number four, Privet Drive was identifiable enough on the map, and Harry retrieved a quill to mark the spot. He knew where he’d grown up, if not perhaps where anything else was. That was the advantage of having a wizarding map though. As Harry had discovered in the shop, the map was charmed to reveal a witch or wizard’s home to you if you were personally acquainted with that witch or wizard. Harry had no idea how the map could tell something like that, but it didn’t really matter at the moment.

“Andromeda Tonks,” he said clearly, squinting at the map. He wasn’t sure if the map would recognize Ted Tonks’ name as connected to the residence, now that the man had passed away. He supposed he could have tried his godson’s name as well, given that the boy was living with his grandmother, but infants might not have registered on the map.

Harry’s guess paid off, as a little pinprick of light emerged from the map. He quick marked the spot with his quill as the light faded away. The house was further away from Privet Drive then he’d have guessed, but it was in roughly the direction he’d been thinking. Now all he had to do was figure out where exactly to look for his broom.

Rather than standing in the street, Harry elected to walk towards the closest park. It would be a good place to set up a base camp, if nothing else, and it was in the right direction anyway.

Taking a page out of the last time he’d been away from an actual home, Harry had acquired a tent. This one he’d actually purchased, rather than borrowed, and the wizard in the shop had been quite keen to give him a thorough run down of all the features. Harry had ended up tuning him out, so he wasn’t at all certain what he’d find when he actually set up the thing. Setting up a tent using magic, as it happened, was much easier than doing it by hand.

Harry set the tent up in no time at all in a quiet corner of the park, circling the area a few times casting the same charms Hermione had used when they were on the run. He didn’t want anyone, particularly Muggles, messing about with his tent when he was away from it.

Once inside, Harry came to an abrupt stop, a little shocked at the palace he’d accidentally purchased. The tent was no bigger on the outside than the one he, Ron, and Hermione had shared. On the inside, however, it seemed to be enough space to comfortably house a family of sixteen.

Having had no concept of what a good price for a reasonable tent was, Harry had apparently gone a little overboard in his purchasing. “Well,” he announced to the empty tent, “I suppose it’s an investment.” Not that he had any intentions to have a family of over a dozen people, but you never really know.

Walking through the tent, Harry unpacked and distributed anything he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to haul around with him. He hadn’t packed a great deal to begin with, so he mostly found himself unpacking clothes and food. Hermione had increased the carrying capability of his rucksack before he left, but he still felt weird carrying around two weeks’ worth of supplies when he wasn’t going to be straying far from his newly established camp ground.

The map, now with both Privet Drive and the Tonks’ home marked, stayed with Harry, and he studied it with interest now that he was more or less settled into the mansion of a tent. It was too far of a distance to comfortably walk, but he had no reason to believe his Firebolt would have just been left where it landed for so long. Somebody had to have picked it up at some point. Still, it couldn’t hurt to wander in that direction at least a bit, just to see if it made any difference in his attempts to summon it.

Harry didn’t actually expect distance to make a difference, but it was worth a try. He still had plenty of daylight left, but he wasn’t eager to start a walk like that right away. If he didn’t do it now though, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Grumbling to himself, he tossed the rucksack back over his shoulder, then headed out the front of the tent.

No one was around, and Harry was confident enough in the success of his charms that he felt comfortable leaving the tent without any added protecting. Glancing at the map, he oriented himself with the closest road, then pivoted in place until he was facing the correct direction.

“Right, time to walk,” he said to no one, setting off on the course he’d set himself. More out of curiosity than any genuine hope, he tried summoning his Firebolt at nearly every cross street. It didn’t work any of the times, but that was no real surprise. He was starting to think that Kingsley had given him a more difficult assignment than the Minister had imagined.

Walking, just walking, without any sense of urgency or any proper magic happening around him, was something Harry hadn’t done in far too long. He’d done plenty of walking during summer holidays, just to get away from Privet Drive for a bit, but that had been out of a longing to be back at Hogwarts or with the Order. This was peaceful because he was nowhere near anyone who knew him and didn’t have anything else he needed to be doing.

The one thing the peace was unexpectedly doing to Harry was causing him to miss Hedwig in a way he hadn’t in months. He had been incredibly sad at his owl’s death, months earlier, but her absence had been less notable when he was on the run. Now, without any immediate means of contacting his friends, Harry was aware of the loss far more than before.

“She’d have loved this,” he murmured aloud to himself. “The quiet, all the calm air.” It wasn’t cloudy at all, and Harry found himself admiring the blue sky, considering how Hedwig would have looked, her wings spread against the clear day’s backdrop.

Harry didn’t want another owl, and yet he wanted another owl. The trouble was that he didn’t want to replace Hedwig, and any other owl would be just that – a replacement. The pet shop in Diagon Alley had been closed when Harry had been there the day before, saving him needing to make a decision.

“ _Accio Firebolt_ ,” Harry said again, pausing just briefly, then moving on. If he figured out a good way to get in touch with those still at Hogwarts, he’d have to ask Hermione if she had any ideas other than a summoning charm, as that clearly wasn’t working.

* * *

 

Over the next few hours, Harry walked until his feet were starting to get sore, then turned around and headed back towards his tent. He hadn’t expected the walk to be productive, and it hadn’t been, but he was still glad he’d done it. Even though he hadn’t really accomplished anything, going for a walk through Muggle neighbourhoods with no sign of the wizarding world anywhere around him was more relaxing than he’d expected.

As Harry approached his tent, one of the Hogwarts school owls swooped down over him, dropping two rather large sized letters and coming to rest on top of his tent.

“Will you wait around for responses?” Harry asked the owl. The bird hooted once, and made no attempt to fly off again, so Harry assumed that was a yes.

Ducking inside the tent, Harry glanced at the front of the letters, both of which had his name on them, though they were addressed differently. One was definitely in Ron’s handwriting, and it read:

_Harry Potter  
I don’t know, somewhere in Surrey!_

Harry chuckled and opened the letter, scanning it and discovering not only Ron’s handwriting, but Hermione’s as well.

_Harry,_

_Hermione reckons we ought to leave you alone for a bit, but I think you’ll want to know what’s going on. The official announcements about all the school stuff for the summer happened. Owls went out to all the families with kids who skipped out this past year. It sounds like McGonagall doesn’t care if they choose to just come back next year and graduate a year late. I think this whole summer lark is so the nutters like Hermione can catch up if they want. Course, Hermione’s perfectly capable of catching up, so it makes sense._

_Let’s see, what else to tell you…Oh yeah, only that I’m going to be an Auror as well! Kingsley was trying to be subtle about it, but I reckon you asked him to train me too, so thanks for that. You know I’d have gone mad if I’d had to come back here to take the NEWTs. I really appreciate it, Harry. You and I are going to be the best Aurors the Ministry’s ever seen! Well, after Mad-Eye I expect._

_How’s Muggle country treating you? Have you found your Firebolt yet? I hope nothing happened to it. Enjoy your break either way. I’ll probably be back home by the time you’re back, unless something happens and they need more help at the castle. The work’s coming on quite well, all things considered. From certain angles, you’d never know there’d been a war here. I suppose I’ll be seeing you for Auror training soon enough!_

_\- Ron_

_Dear Harry,_

_I still think writing to you when you’re meant to be taking a break from all this is a bit silly, but Ron insisted we keep you updated. It looks like he’s mentioned most of the big things, so that’s good._

_I’m mostly just adding this so you know we’re both thinking of you and hoping you have a nice time away. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. The school owl should wait for a response, so we look forward to hearing from you, even if it’s just a hello._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry felt himself grinning at the long letter with changing penmanship partway through. He could hear both of his friends speaking as he read, and it was a relief to know that things were going well even without him there. Knowing that Kingsley had actually agreed to take Ron on for training was also a huge relief. If Harry had gotten to train and Ron had been forced back into school, it likely would not have been pretty.

Scanning the table he’d sat down at for supplies, Harry realized all his parchment and his quill had been left in his rucksack, which he’d set down by the tent flap when he first entered. That was one of the problems with having such a massive tent.

Declining to get up, Harry gestured towards his rucksack with his wand and called out, “ _Accio parchment! Accio quill!_ _Accio ink!_ ” The items flew towards him immediately, and he plucked them out of the air without trouble. At least he knew his ability to summon remaining unchanged, even if it hadn’t worked on his Firebolt.

Deciding on two separate responses for his friends, Harry began with Ron. He wrote a brief congratulations about the Auror training, thanked him for the updates about Hogwarts, and gave a brief rundown of his interaction with Bill at Gringotts. He knew Ron would be amused by that last part, and perhaps relieved to know that they needn’t fear any immediate reprisal from Gringotts for breaking into the bank. Before he signed off, he added a postscript about the admirable shape he’d found Grimmauld Place in, and asked if Ron was interested in living with him for a bit while they were in training. The idea of living in the house alone, even with Kreacher about, wasn’t nearly as appealing as sharing it with someone else.

Harry considered what to say to Hermione a little more carefully, trying to figure out how best to frame the information he wanted to share.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you for writing, really. Hearing from you two is not at all interrupting my time away, and I’m probably able to relax more easily when I know everything is going well for you all._

_I actually do have some news for you, and a question. The good news first though. Kreacher successfully managed to keep Yaxley or any other Death Eaters from getting into Grimmauld Place. I didn’t realize house elves had that kind of power, but I suppose defending their home is quite a useful skill. Anyway, he also started clearing the house of dark magic for me, so even Mrs. Black is gone now. Isn’t that fantastic? I’m thinking I’ll stay there while I’m in Auror training, seeing as it’s my house. I don’t know that I want to live there forever, but I’m glad I have the option._

_My question is about looking for my broom. So, I tried summoning it as soon as I got here, and nothing happened. I wasn’t necessarily expecting it to work, but I had to try. I tried from different distances, trying to follow the route Hagrid and I took to the Tonks’ house, but nothing. I know there’s a few different reasons why summoning might not be working, but I wanted your advice. Is there another spell I could try, or any other methods I should look into?_

_I’m glad everyone’s doing well._

_\- Harry_

He reviewed the letter briefly, then set both of his replies aside so he could open the second missive the owl had brought. This one said:

 _Harry Potter_  
Probably in a tent  
Near Muggles  
Surrey, England

Harry grinned at the handwriting. He hadn’t had many opportunities to receive letters from Ginny in the past, but he still recognized her handwriting. It might have also been how little he expected to hear from anyone else.

_Dear Harry,_

_Ron mentioned he was going to write to you, so I decided I’d better do it as well. I imagine he’s going to fill you in on all that’s happening here, so I’m not sure what else I can tell you. Is camping boring? I’m assuming you’re camping. Have you found your broom? I’m looking forward to that one-on-one match you promised me._

_Percy finally gave in earlier today and allowed me to recruit some of the ghosts to help with the painting inventory. It’s going much faster now, so we’ll probably be finished tomorrow. Mum wants everyone to go home sometime next week, but I’m not sure most of us are likely to be there long. Ron’s going to be training with you, as I’m sure he told you, and George needs to get back to the shop. I’m not sure he really wants to, but at the same time I think not being there is slowly killing him. He can’t keep going the way he has been. Percy has his own place in London, but I think he’s going to stay with us for a few days just to pacify Mum, since he spent so long away._

_I think Hogwarts will be ready to resume business in a few weeks, at which point Professor McGonagall wants everyone who was here this year to come back and complete their year. Those who weren’t here she plans to have in specialized courses of study. I’ve only got to complete my year, since I was here until Christmas. Hermione’s going to come study for her NEWTs, which sounds like an awful lot of work. Anyway, you’ll have friends here, whenever you’d like to visit. I think Neville might stay to finish out the year as well, seeing as he was about to take his NEWTs anyway. Professor McGonagall told me to tell you that you’re welcome any time, but I’m sure you already knew that._

_Stay safe, and enjoy your holiday._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

Harry immediately set about writing a response. He assured her he was perfectly fine and enjoying some peace and quiet, though he’d yet to locate his Firebolt. He expressed interest in the new set up for Hogwarts classes, which he did find genuinely fascinating and impressive. He offered some brief commentary on her family, which was the closest thing he had to a family of his own, and asked if her father intended to return to work or not. He hadn’t seen much of Mr. Weasley since the battle, so he had no idea what the man intended.

Confirming that he intended to visit, Harry finished off his letter with:

_I know it must have been hard, not being able to write to me while I was gone this past year. Please, don’t hesitate to write any time you’d like. I’ll be sure to respond right away. I’ve missed talking to you, so we’ll have to make up for lost time._

Satisfied that the comment didn’t sound too sappy, he signed the letter and sealed it, addressing it to Ginny at Hogwarts. He doubted any of his friends would be gone before the letters arrived, so he addressed them all that way. In his experience, owls didn’t necessarily need any sort of address at all, but as this owl wasn’t Hedwig, he didn’t feel quite as confident.

Walking outside of the tent, Harry brandished the three letters at the owl, asking, “Ready?”

Looking pleased, the owl came close enough to take the letters from Harry, then took flight.

Harry watched the owl grow smaller and smaller, then sighed to himself and turned to face the tent. Perhaps some sleep would grant him fresh ideas in the morning.

“ _Accio Firebolt!_ ” He tried again, just in case. After a few minutes, he huffed in frustration and re-entered the tent. 


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, being on holiday automatically resulted in Harry waking up a good deal later than he normally would have. After a quick breakfast of scones, which were still delicious, he spared a moment to clean out the dishes he’d used for dinner with a flick of his wand. He should have done it the night before, but it hadn’t seemed important.

No owls had arrived yet as far as he could tell, so that meant he would have to come up with his own ideas for the day. He had half a mind to figure out where the closest wizarding library was and apparate there to do research, but visiting areas full of wizards was sort of counterintuitive to the whole point of this holiday.

Resolving to head back outside and do some more exploring of the area, Harry shouldered his rucksack and walked through the tent flap. He knew some of his surroundings from growing up in the area, but there were a great deal of neighbourhoods he’d never wandered through.

He backed away from the tent until it vanished. Well, vanished wasn’t the right word. He could still see it, of course, but he backed away until he was outside of the protective spells. He could sort of see the protection, or at least sense it, and felt satisfied that it was still working.

“I knew it!” The exclamation startled Harry and he nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to turn around.

“Dudley,” Harry said, too surprised to manage an actual response. He looked around briefly, but nobody else was in the park. He couldn’t quite figure out what to say.

“I knew you had to be close,” Dudley stated, seeming incredibly pleased with himself. “We’ve only been back about a week, and Ded said you weren’t coming back, but I knew you’d show up eventually.”

Harry blinked at him, unsure where to start with that. He was still trying to figure out what Dudley was even doing there. “Ded?” He asked, finally settling on at least one of his questions.

“The titchy one,” Dudley clarified, miming a significantly shorter height than his own.

“You mean Dedalus?” Harry asked, the lightbulb going off as he realized who Dudley must mean. “I’ve never heard him called Ded before.”

Dudley shrugged. “Dedalus is a funny name. He said he didn’t mind. Seemed pleased to have a nickname, actually.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Harry agreed, still feeling a little wrong-footed. “Dudley, how’d you know I was here? It’s not like you can see my tent.”

“What tent?” Dudley asked, proving Harry’s point immediately. Seeming to understand he wasn’t going to get a response, he merely shrugged as though it wasn’t important. “Well, I knew you’d show up at some point. I wasn’t sure when, but then your broom started rattling around in your room, and I figured you were close.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to Dudley’s, widening in shock. “My broom’s in the house?” He asked with astonishment. He couldn’t think of any possible reason for his Firebolt to be back at Privet Drive, and he was feeling more and more confused by the moment. “Okay, hang on, I need to sit down for this conversation. Follow me.” He countered the charm to repel Muggles and grabbed Dudley’s arm, ushering him forward towards the tent.

“Whoa,” Dudley said, sounding impressed in spite of himself. “This is yours?”

“I just bought it. I needed a home base for while I was here. C’mon.” Harry ducked through the tent flap, letting go of Dudley, who needed to duck much lower to make it in.

“Whoa,” Dudley said again, spinning around in place with wide eyes. “How’s it do that?”

“Magic,” Harry replied with more than a little sarcasm in his tone. He rolled his eyes and headed for the sofa he’d felt was unnecessary when he’d first toured his new tent. “Take a seat.”

Dudley sank into an armchair, a little dazed. Harry felt just slightly superior, now that he was the one in his element, and the sensation helped him relax a little bit.

“What made you think I’d come back?” He asked, still finding that part of Dudley’s statement a little bizarre.

“Ded and Hestia said you wouldn’t, that you’d left for good, but I dunno, it’s your home too, isn’t it?” Dudley seemed to realize that the assumption wasn’t quite right as he spoke, but his face was stuck in the same stubborn expression he’d used as a kid, when he’d figured out he was wrong but insisted that he’d been right all the same.

Harry stared at him, incredulous. “Look, I’m glad you guys made it back safely and everything, but I really did leave forever that night. You’ll notice I didn’t exactly come knocking on the front door. I may have lived there, Dudley, but it’s not my home. It never was.” He almost felt guilty saying so, not wanting to be deliberately rude, but he also wasn’t quite polite enough to lie. He and Dudley had parted on fairly amicable terms, for them, but Harry didn’t have any reason to believe that was going to laste.

Dudley didn’t respond at first, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. “Sorry,” he finally said.

“It’s all right,” Harry replied automatically. It wasn’t, but he didn’t really feel like blaming Dudley anymore. Living through a war tends to change your priorities, and hating his cousin was hardly something worth his energy.

“It’s not though, is it?” Dudley said, not looking like he was actually asking a question. “Ded said you saved the world. All this magic stuff, it’s important, yeah? I mean, Hestia and Ded seemed to think you hung the moon, and I’m not blind, or deaf for that matter. It’s pretty obvious there was some kind of war on out there. Ded’s not good at keeping secrets.”

“Dedalus would be president of my fan club if I let him,” Harry replied, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice. He liked Deadlus, but he wasn’t crazy about people who were oblivious to how uncomfortable all of the fawning made him. Hestia wasn’t nearly as bad, but he also didn’t know her as well. He’d spent more time around Dedalus, and even that wasn’t saying much. He barely knew the man.

Dudley shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Mum and Dad just plugged up their ears and pretended they couldn’t hear anything when Ded and Hestia were talking, but I wanted to know. You’re not just some crazy person, Harry. I sort of knew that already, but the past year just made it more obvious what gigantic gits we all are.”

“Well, thanks for that,” Harry replied, fidgeting a little. He rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his glasses. “I imagine your parents don’t share this epiphany.”

Dudley snorted loudly. “Yeah, not so much. If you want to come get your stuff, I can let you know when they’ll be out of the house so you can come by without running into them.”

That brought Harry crashing back to the earlier revelation, and he eagerly grabbed onto the topic. “You said my broom is in my old bedroom?” He asked, still bewildered by the very idea.

“Oh, yeah. Your trunk’s there too, and some other random stuff I couldn’t figure out. Mum and Dad won’t go in there, but I figure they’ll try and toss it all eventually, so you should probably get it sooner rather than later.” Dudley shrugged, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Harry was still confused. “How’d it get there?” He asked, partly to Dudley and partly to himself.

“Hestia, probably,” Dudley replied, seeming to think it wasn’t a big deal.

“Look, Dudley, I took my Firebolt with me when I left the house,” Harry explained. “We were attacked right after we left, and it fell out of the motorcycle sidecar. I came back to look for it.”

“It’s called a Firebolt?” Dudley asked with interest, adding, “What motorcycle?”

Resigning himself to needing to run through a brief explanation of his escape from Privet Drive, Harry began to describe the night his friends had all transformed into him and fought off Death Eaters. He made it through the whole story without interruption, to his surprise. “Anyway, Sirius gave me the Firebolt, so I came to see if I could find it.”

“Your godfather, right?” Dudley asked, looking surprised to actually recognize a name Harry had mentioned. “He died, that old man said so.”

The reference to both his deceased godfather and his deceased professor made Harry swallow once and blink a few times, taking a deep breath. “Professor Dumbledore, yes. He’s since passed away as well.”

Dudley was quiet for a moment. “You’ve known a lot of people who’ve died,” he observed, giving Harry a speculative look.

Harry huffed something that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so deprecating. “Yeah, you could say that.” Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, knowing full well that it wouldn’t stay down. “Why do you say Hestia probably brought my broom back?”

“She left, right after we got to the safe house,” Dudley explained. “Ded watched us while she went to do ‘clean up.’ She was only going for a couple hours, but she told Ded that she’d cleaned up all the evidence that any magic happened in the area and straightened out the house. Dad put up a right fit at that until she managed to convince him nothing’d happened to the house. It feels different though, so I reckon she used some sort of magic on it.”

“Probably protection spells,” Harry replied, not really thinking about the house at all. “Smart of her. I wouldn’t have put it past the Death Eaters to try and blow up the house, even knowing full well I’m not there.”

“You can come check it out,” Dudley offered eagerly. “I mean, if you want. Mum and Dad have got a work function to be at in a couple nights, so they can’t say anything about it.”

Harry hesitated only briefly. He had no desire to re-enter the house he’d grown up in, but he did very much want his Firebolt back. Plus, there was the unexpected pleasure of his cousin having grown up quite a bit. Harry didn’t deny the part of him that wanted to retain some sort of connection to his biological family. “Yeah, all right,” he agreed. “What time?”

“So, not tomorrow night, but the night after,” Dudley clarified unnecessarily, “they’ll be off around half six.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll see you then,” he confirmed. When Dudley didn’t immediately move to leave the obviously magical tent, Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Was there something else?”

Dudley hesitated. “I’d guess, given what I do know, that you probably don’t want to talk about your war,” he said slowly. “I’m dead curious though, Harry. Those things that attacked us a few years ago, that’s just the tip of it, right? I really want to know everything we never let you tell us.” He stopped, looking uncomfortable, like he had asked too much and knew it.

Harry considered that for a minute. The idea of a member of his family actually _knowing_ him for the first time, that was an incredible temptation. He wasn’t sure he and Dudley would ever be friends, but they could at least work towards being pleasant extended family. That alone would be a massive improvement.

“Tell you what,” Harry said after a few long beats of silence. “I’ll pick up my stuff, then we’ll go out to get dinner. I don’t want to risk being caught out by your parents at the house. We’ll eat, and you can ask me whatever you like.”

“Really?” Dudley asked, his eyes wide like he’d suddenly found a forgotten Christmas present. “You’ll seriously tell me your stories?”

The prospect of telling Dudley what he’d been through was going more appealing by the minute. No matter what he said, it was doubtful that Dudley would ever really see him as more than just his cousin. Harry loved the idea of someone knowing all about him and still treating him normally, as a family member no less. “Yeah, Big D,” Harry replied with a twitch of a smirk on his lips. “Whatever you want to know.”

Finally getting to his feet, Dudley was properly grinning, and looked exceptionally eager. “Right, well, I’ll see you day after tomorrow then. Unless you get bored tomorrow and want to hang out or something. I can come by, if you want.”

Harry wasn’t sure he didn’t want to just hang out by himself, but he decided to leave his options open. “Hang on, you never explained how you knew where I was,” he reminded Dudley.

“Oh,” Dudley shrugged like it wasn’t important. “Well like I said, your broom kept hitting the walls, like every ten minutes or so yesterday. I ended up pinning it under your trunk so it would stop moving, otherwise Dad might have tried to destroy it. I think he might be too scared to mess with your room yet anyway, but whatever. I figured if the broom was moving by itself, you were probably close, so I decided to look for places you.”

“Which brings us back to you stumbling across my invisible tent,” Harry reminded him.

“That was more luck than anything I think,” Dudley admitted. “I mean, I decided to check the park. If you didn’t come back to the house, I doubted you’d be round anyone else’s house. I’d only been wandering around for a bit when I saw you coming out of nowhere.” He looked fairly pleased with himself, regardless of the discovery being an accident.

”Huh,” Harry said, not sure what else he could say. The answer to his quandary with his broom had just stumbled across him by accident? Not that going back to that house to retrieve it was going to be simple exactly, or even pleasant. “I suppose I should be grateful you even wanted to find me then,” he mused.

Dudley rubbed at the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “Well, with Hestia and Ded gone, I sort of miss knowing what’s happening. Not that they told me really. I sort of listened by the door a lot.”

Harry snorted, remembering scuffles between them to do just that when they were young. “No one can blame you for being curious.”

Laughing out loud, Dudley shook his head and said, “Right, we both know that’s a lie or you’d be coming round today instead of waiting until Mum and Dad are gone.”

“Point,” Harry allowed, his tone wry.

“I’m glad you’re…” Dudley trailed off, giving Harry a once over. “Okay?” He said the word like a question, apparently not entirely sure.

“I am okay,” Harry confirmed, giving Dudley a reassuring smile. “There’s plenty that’s not okay, but that’s why we rebuild.”

Dudley didn’t seem to completely understand what Harry meant, but he nodded anyway. “Okay,” he said again, this time as a statement. “I should get home, before they get worried. See you soon.”

“See you,” Harry replied, walking to the tent flap to watch his cousin depart. Dudley walked just far enough away that Harry knew the tent was invisible to him again, then turned and started a little, seeming surprised. Harry grinned and called out, “Still here, don’t worry.”

Making a face at the cousin he couldn’t see, Dudley turned back around and kept walking, back towards Privet Drive. Harry realized as he watched his cousin move that Dudley was not nearly as heavy as he’d once been. He’d already started muscling up the last time they’d seen each other, but Dudley merely looked like a large man now, not an unhealthily obese one. Harry guessed that Vernon probably looked the same as always, but Harry was somehow glad to see that Dudley was growing away from the habits he’d been taught at home. He also seemed to be growing as a person, which Harry was especially grateful for. In just two days, he’d have his Firebolt back!


	6. Chapter 6

Harry spent the rest of that day and all of the following day enjoying himself. Now that he knew he’d be getting his Firebolt back, he felt able to take advantage of the whole reason everyone had insisted he take a holiday in the first place. He explored every inch of the massive tent, discovering a few features he’d missed on his first inspection. He read through the one spell book he’d brought with him, practicing a few charms he’d never really tested before. He was no Hermione when it came to mastering spells, but he thought he’d done a pretty good job for learning out of a book.

By the morning, Harry had four new letters. One was from Ron, with a general play-by-play of everything that had happened at Hogwarts since he’d left. Aside from a paragraph detailing exactly how much Ron would love to share Grimmauld Place with him while they were training, the rest of the letter was about the rebuilding progress. It sounded like more and more people were returning to their actual jobs, including Kingsley. Professor McGonagall was doing her best to prepare the castle for classes once more, but according to Ron, Hermione wasn’t there to help her anymore, having been sent off to do something else. Ron was vague on that front. If Harry had to guess, he’d say Ron wasn’t sure if he was allowed to share what the new task was.

Curious to see if Hermione’s letter was more informative, Harry opened that one next. She spent a paragraph explaining a few different sort of tracking spells he could use to look for his Firebolt. Harry felt a little chagrined that she’d gone to all that work when he wasn’t going to need to use any of it. He consoled himself with the fact that she’d probably known it all off the top of her head. The remainder of the letter did indeed explain what she was off to do, and Harry felt terrible for not having even thought about it yet.

_Professor McGonagall, completely by accident, managed to discover the lengths I went to in order to protect my parents before we all went on the run last year. She was rather distressed, which was awfully sweet of her, and insisted I take some time off to go to Australia and retrieve them. I’ll be taking a Portkey as soon as I’ve finished writing you. I think I’ll restore their memories first, but I won’t make them return to England if they don’t want to. It would be such an awful lot of upheaval. Although, Professor McGonagall seems to think that the Ministry would be willing to help with relocation costs, given that they were technically refugees of the war, even if they didn’t realize it. I suppose it’ll depend on what my parents have to say about it all. In any case, should you need to contact me, I will be in Australia for at least the next few days._

She continued the letter with a few comments about the progression of plans at the school, then signed off. Harry stared at the letter, feeling like an insensitive prat. Of course Hermione needed to go find her parents! It had been so long since he’d thought about what she’d done to protect her family that he’d overlooked it completely. He wrote her back immediately, informing her about the interaction with Dudley and how he’d unexpectedly located the Firebolt that way. He then wished her success in locating and restoring her parents. He thought about thanking her for making the sacrifice in the first place, but he decided against it. Hermione knew how grateful he was already, and this was going to be an emotional enough endeavour for her without having to deal with his gratitude on top of everything else.

Signing off that letter, Harry went ahead and wrote out a response to Ron as well, spending considerably more time on his conversation with Dudley. He knew Ron would find that interesting. When he finished, he glanced at the other two letters still waiting to be read and stood, walking outside the tent to find the waiting owl.

“Er, look, I’m going to have deliveries to three different places,” he informed the owl, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ve still got to read two of the letters you brought and write responses, so d’you think you could go find two other owls to help deliver them all?”

The owl looked potentially a little insulted. It was hard to tell. Harry had only ever been able to read Hedwig.

“If it helps,” Harry offered hesitantly, “you can take the two letters that need to go to Hogwarts. It’s more work, but I reckon you’re up for it. Plus, one of them is going to my girlfriend, so it’s quite important.” He was pretty sure Ginny was technically his girlfriend. They had more of an understanding than anything else, but he fully intended to make it more official when he got back.

The owl preened a little, looking satisfied, and took off, presumably to locate a few other owls.

Ducking back inside the tent, Harry glanced at the other two letters. He’d save Ginny’s for last. That decision made, he picked up the letter from Kingsley, which is the one that had surprised him.

_Harry,_

_I’ve returned to the Ministry, and let me tell you, there’s a lot to be done here. It’s going to take days just to remove all the evidences of dark magic from this place, but we’ll get it done. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve put my best people in charge of putting the Auror Office back in order. We should be fully operational on that front by the time you get back to London. I’ll be training you and Ron, although you’ll also have lessons with a few other senior Aurors. It’ll help you get a more well-rounded education._

_How are you getting on with your assignment? I hope you’re feeling well rested. I look forward to seeing you here. Don’t worry too much about the fanfare that awaits you. Those within the Ministry are professional, and should keep their ardor to a dull roar._

_Sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

Harry grinned at Kingsley’s last line, able to hear the older wizard saying it. He was a bit worried about too much pomp and circumstance when he started work at the Ministry, but Kingsley’s humour put him at ease. He’d have to get used to it someday anyway.

He penned a quick response explaining how he’d found his broom completely by accident, and how he was planning to spend some time with his cousin. He assured the Minister that he was getting plenty of relaxing done as well, then signed off and addressed the letter.

That just left Ginny’s letter, which Harry had been most eager to read in the first place. She started off with the news that the Quidditch pitch was nearly restored to its pre-battle glory, and detailed exactly how she planned to outstrip him when they got to fly around it together. Another paragraph gave some information on her father, who was apparently going back to work the very next day. That wasn’t so unusual, as she explained nearly everyone was heading back to their jobs. It was the final paragraph that caused Harry to become a bit emotional.

_It wasn’t just hard not being able to write or talk to you, Harry. It was absolutely terrifying. The only assurance I had that you weren’t dead was the fact that there was no news at all. I don’t blame you for that. I know what you were doing was important, and you succeeded against all the forces working against you. I’m so proud of you, I hope you know that. I also hope you know, now that you aren’t on the run any longer, that I intend to see so much of you that you become quite sick of me._

There were a few additional comments that made Harry smile before Ginny signed off, but he found himself glancing back to the few lines that gave him an insight into what she’d been feeling when he was away. It had been different for Hermione and Ron, he thought. They’d been together most of the time, and even when they weren’t, it was before they’d really figured out that they were a couple at all. Ginny though, Harry had been properly dating her before he’d gone on the run. He’d broken it off because he’d been worried that either he’d die and break her heart or she’d be targeted because of him. Technically both of those things had happened anyway, but at least he’d tried. Now, he had no intention of ever letting her go again.

With that certainty, Harry wrote Ginny back, copying her method of addressing the less volatile topics first, then ending with a more meaningful paragraph.

 _I have no intention of ever letting you go again, even if I was capable of getting sick of you,_ he wrote, echoing his earlier thoughts. _I’ll visit Hogwarts all the time, and I’ll come up there for Hogsmeade weekends too. We’ll write letters all the time, and during breaks we’ll go out on proper dates. It’s amazing how freeing it can be to not be under threat of constant death. I’m proud of you as well, Ginny, more so than you probably realize. I was terrified for you, up at the school with a couple of Death Eaters and doing your best to create anarchy, but you were amazing. I think when I get back, we’ll have to take some time to go over all the things we missed in each other’s lives while we were gone, just to make sure we know how proud of each other to be._

Harry smirked at his paragraph, appreciative of the humour he’d injected. He added a few more remarks before signing off, then addressed that letter too. His timing was perfect, as he heard a few rather loud hoots coming from outside the tent.

Carrying the four letters, Harry was pleased to discover the original owl had returned, accompanied by two others. “Great,” he said, handing the letters out. “This one goes to the Ministry, to Kingsley Shacklebolt. This one goes to Hermione Granger, in Australia, and these two are going to Hogwarts, to Ron and Ginny Weasley.”

The owls accepted their letters in turn, then took off. Harry watched them fly off, then lowered his gaze back towards the tent. Well, now he had to come up with something else to do for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

It probably was a terrible idea, and it certainly didn’t qualify as rest, but Harry set out towards Privet Drive the next morning wrapped in his Indivisibility Cloak. He had no real reason to be there until after his aunt and uncle were gone, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself from spying on them a bit.

Knowing how Dudley had come around due to his experiences with the wizarding world made Harry curious as to whether or not the rest of his family had changed at all. He seriously doubted it, but this was probably the only time he’d see them again, and seeing them without them knowing he was there was the most appealing option.

Harry didn’t honestly have a strong desire to see Petunia or Vernon Dursley again, but being so close and not seeing them felt strange. Of course, he had absolutely no intentions on speaking to them, so that made him feel less apprehensive about sneaking around on his old street.

Settling himself underneath an open window, which was its own instance of déjà vu, Harry ensured his cloak was completely covering his body, then waited. Vernon’s car was still in the drive, so he hadn’t left for work yet. Focusing, Harry could just hear snatches of conversation from inside the house.

“…of course,” Vernon was saying. “I’ll be back in plenty of time, Petunia, dear. Make sure you’re presentable. We want to make a good impression, don’t we.” It wasn’t a question, and the sound of heavy footsteps indicated that he was walking away from any chance of a reply.

“What are you doing today, Duddykins?” Petunia asked, her voice seeming less forceful than Harry remembered it.

“Hanging out,” Dudley replied, his tone fairly bland. “I’m going to get dinner with a friend tonight, but that’s all.”

Harry could just imagine Petunia’s eyes sharpening at that tidbit of information, and he focused on her response instead of the jolt of surprise that ran through him at being referred to as a friend of Dudley’s.

“A friend? Which friend?” Petunia asked, her natural waspishness making itself known.

“No one you know, Mum, trust me,” was Dudley’s response.

Petunia pestered her son for a few more moments, but got no additional information out of him. Harry wondered if she at all suspected that he was back, but he doubted it. Nothing she said suggested it, after all.

Vernon exited the house a little later, looking exactly as he had for all of Harry’s youth. The main exception was the age in his face. It startled Harry a little, to see how old his uncle looked now. Dudley had grown and changed, but somehow he hadn’t considered the fact that his aunt and uncle must have aged as well. There was not a hair on his head or face that wasn’t grey, and Harry would wager the slight loss of weight that seemed apparent was due to stress.

It was something Harry might have felt bad, but he couldn’t seem to generate the emotion within himself. He did regret that the war he’d been central to had threatened any Muggles at all, but the specific trials of the Dursley family didn’t particularly weigh on him. They also didn’t please him, so he decided that was reassurance enough that he wasn’t an awful person for not feeling guilty.

Sitting beneath the window ought to have been exceptionally boring, but instead, Harry found himself flooded with memories that kept him quite occupied. Petunia spent a large portion of the day on the phone, gossiping with her friends. It was all completely innocuous and ridiculous, but Harry had heard her do the exact same thing as a child, and it was strangely nostalgic. When Petunia was on the phone, Harry had been out of her crosshairs, and that small amount of freedom had always been refreshing.

Harry was fully aware that he was romanticizing not being abused by his extended family, but he also wasn’t nearly as hostile towards his upbringing as he knew Mrs. Weasley was. His perspective as child had always been one of knowing he had nowhere else to go. That did engender a certain amount of gratitude in him. After all, as the Dursleys often reminded him, they didn’t have to take him in. He had never liked them, but he was aware that it could have been worse. As an adult though, or nearly an adult, he’d learned of the protection living with his mother’s blood had afforded him.

There were a lot of things about his childhood Harry resented, but knowing that Dumbledore had explained the seriousness of the threat against her nephew to Petunia and the protection she could offer him and she had taken him in was something he was grateful for regardless. The fact that Petunia knew enough about the magical world to understand what taking Harry in could mean in terms of future danger also spoke volumes about her. Really, Harry mused, the only member of his extended family he didn’t have some sort of appreciation for was his uncle. Vernon’s only redeeming virtue was the fact that he’d agreed to keep Harry in the first place, but Harry knew that had been Petunia’s doing.

Surprisingly, Petunia just then crossed into the room Harry’s open window belonged to, currently engaged in what she clearly felt was an awkward conversation.

“Er, no,” she was saying, “he’s not here anymore.” There was a pause, then she started breathing quickly. “No, no, I mean, that is to say-“ she made a squeaking noise, then blurted, “he’s in prison!” There was a longer pause, then she relaxed a little and added, “Yes, I know, terribly unfortunate, but we always knew it was a lost cause.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Had his aunt really just informed a friend of hers that her nephew was in prison? He’d known his biological family wouldn’t appreciate all the sacrifices he and his friends had made for the world, with the surprising exception of Dudley, but to have all of that dismissed in favour of a lie about his supposed criminal activities? It was nearly as insulting as when the Ministry had declared him an insane liar a few years ago. That had been worse, since the wizarding world had always been full of people who actually valued him. Still, Petunia had to know better. If Dudley had been eager for news of the war, there was no way Petunia was oblivious to how it had gone down.

He had half a mind to go inside and set her straight, but what good would that do? After today he’d never see his aunt or uncle again. He’d settle for a good relationship with Dudley, which was more than he’d expected to have. An idea began to bloom in his head though, and he found his lips twitched towards a smile. There was no reason he couldn’t leave his aunt a rather pointed letter. It didn’t really matter how she felt about it, but he would feel a more concrete sense of closure if he got to at least say what he wanted.

Around lunchtime, Harry abandoned his post by the window and returned to his tent, preparing himself a meal and taking the afternoon to relax a little. It had been bizarrely cathartic to go back to the house, even if he wasn’t actually going inside it until that evening. Deciding to take advantage of the remaining hours before he was meant to meet Dudley, Harry gathered his parchment, quill, and ink, and settled down at the table to pen a not to Petunia.

_Aunt Petunia,_

_I can’t imagine you actually expected to hear from me, but I hope you’ll read this and not just throw it away. I’m not bothering to write to Uncle Vernon, since I think he’d set anything I’d touched on fire, but I figure I’ve got a shot at you actually listening to me._

_I’m glad you all made it out of the war in one piece. Lots of good men and women, friends of mine, lost their lives. It would have been easy for you all to get caught in the crossfire, so I’m glad you agreed to leave in the first place. You needn’t worry anymore. Voldemort is dead. His remaining followers are being hunted by the Ministry of Magic, and you shouldn’t be in danger. If they do target me, as they likely will, there are other people they’d threaten to get to me._

_Much as you hate magic, I thought you would want to at least know that the man who murdered your sister is gone. He will never tear another family apart. Another death you may be interested to hear of is that of Severus Snape. He was a professor of mine, and I learned later, a good friend of my mother’s. I know you knew him. It’s a long story, but I got to share a few of his memories. To be honest, he and I hated each other from the moment we met. Apparently I look too much like my father, and the two of them never got on. However, in honour of my mother, Professor Snape went above and beyond what anyone could have been expected to do to keep me alive and get me what I needed in order to finally remove Voldemort once and for all. For that, I honour him, even though I can’t say I’ll ever fully forgive him. Perhaps, as we all honour his sacrifices, we will choose to emulate those traits of his that he kept hidden, rather than the bile he seemed unable to keep from spilling over._

_Speaking of which, I wish I could say I was surprised to learn of the genesis of your hatred of magic, but jealousy is unfortunately the exact sort of pettiness I learned to expect from you as a child. I wish you knew how much my mother hated to have her sister torn from her life. What you did was cruel, turning on her that way. She would have forgiven you at any moment, had you only offered an apology. I shouldn’t be surprised that all your bitterness extended to me as well. I will forever me grateful to you for extending the protection of my mother’s blood to me, even though I can’t say I will ever truly forgive you and Uncle Vernon._

_I don’t expect you to want to get in touch with me, but if you should, I’ll leave a return address for you on the envelope. Anything you send there will get to me. I’m going to become what you might consider to be a sort of policeman, in my world. I’ll be hunting down all those who aspire to follow in Voldemort’s shoes. I’ve also got a girlfriend, who has flaming red hair, just like Mum._

_This letter, though addressed to you, is more for me. I don’t want or expect anything from you, Aunt Petunia, but I needed to say all of this to you, and I don’t imagine you actually want to talk to me._

_Have a nice life. Also, stop telling your friends I’m in prison._

_\- Harry_

He added the Muggle post box that was charmed to collect mail addressed to Ministry officials on the envelope. Anything addressed to him that went there would find its way to him. Mr. Weasley had told him about it once, bragging about the ingenuity that went into finding ways to use Muggle systems, like the post.

Once he’d secured the letter, Harry checked the time. Now all he had to do was wait until his relatives had left for the evening. He was about to get his Firebolt back!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry approached Privet Drive that evening under the Invisibility Cloak again. He’d made the decision for two reasons. One, he thought it would be amusing to had Dudley answer the door to find no one there, and two, the idea of any of his extended family’s neighbours seeing him on the street wasn’t particularly appealing. Apparently since they all may have been told he was in prison, which he still found quite annoying.

The car was already gone when he caught sight of the house, so he went straight to the front door, knocking firmly and stepping back to wait.

Dudley opened the door almost immediately, and look bewildered for all of a second before saying, “Blimey, Harry, you can turn yourself invisible?”

Harry uncovered just his head, grinning at Dudley’s dumbfounded reaction. “I wasn’t expecting you to guess it was me quite so quickly,” he admitted, a little proud of his cousin in spite of himself.

“People don’t typically knock and run off around here,” Dudley pointed out. He stood back and gestured towards the hall. “C’mon in.”

Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak and folded it up, tucking it into the rucksack he’d grabbed before leaving the tent. He entered the house, doing his best to avoid looking at the cupboard under the stairs.

“Mum and Dad left already,” Dudley said unnecessarily, pushing past Harry to enter the kitchen. “Do you want tea or something?” He looked a little awkward, and added sheepishly, “I don’t tend to have proper company, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself and shook his head. “Nah, thanks though. I’ve actually got a question for you though.”

“What’s that?” Dudley asked, puttering around the kitchen for lack of something obvious to do.

“Why’s Aunt Petunia telling people I’m in prison?” Harry asked, his tone a little wry.

Dudley looked genuinely shocked. “How d’you know that?” He asked, eyes wide.

Harry shrugged. “I sort of came over earlier and hung out for a while. I don’t want to talk to either of them, but it was sort of morbid curiosity. I wanted to see if anything was different.”

“It’s not,” Dudley replied, again unnecessarily. “If it makes you feel any better though, Mum’s not the one who came up with the prison line, and I’ve not told anyone that cause I think it’s rubbish.”

“So it was Uncle Vernon’s idea,” Harry stated, unsurprised by that. “Figures.”

“Honestly, neither of them bring you up at all if they don’t have to,” Dudley explained. “It’s only, Aunt Marge was asking, and you know how Dad and her are.”

That made a lot more sense to Harry. Of course it would be Marge that necessitated such a lie in his uncle’s mind. “Ah,” he said.

Dudley nodded, agreeing with Harry’s unspoken thoughts. “Once he’d lied to Aunt Marge, it was the story he insisted on any time you came up. Which hasn’t been often, honestly. Mum will only tell people if she’s pressed, and hardly anyone who my parents interact with even really knew or cared about you.” He shrugged, setting down the pepper pot he’d absently picked up. “Sorry,” he added after a beat, seeming to think he might have insulted Harry.

“No, it’s fine. I was annoyed, more than anything, but you’re right, it’s not as if people are going to be banging down the door to find out where I’ve gone.” With the context of the lie he’d heard his aunt tell now revealed, Harry actually found it a little funny. He also imagined that Dudley was right, and she was probably uncomfortable saying it. She did know better, after all. Still, Petunia never really was one to stand up to Vernon. Especially not about things like that.

There was a beat, then Harry remembered the letter he’d placed in his pocket. “Er, Dudley, is there a place I can leave something for your mum where Uncle Vernon won’t see it?”

Dudley looked a little surprised, but he headed over to the drawer that Harry knew contained all the tea towels and pulled it open. “Just set it on top here. Dad never messes with this sort of thing.”

Harry crossed the room and pulled the letter from his pocket, hesitating only briefly before setting it on the top of the mound of neatly folded towels. It said ‘Aunt Petunia’ across the front, so he knew it would be obvious who it was from, but he hoped she’d read it anyway.

After a pause, Dudley hooked his thumb towards the stairs and asked, “Want to get your stuff? It’s only, I’m starved, so I wouldn’t mind going sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry headed back into the hall and up the stairs, feeling a much stronger sense of déjà vu now that he was actually in the house. He could also feel the touch of magic, which reminded him of one of Dudley’s comments from the other day. “You were right, you know,” he said, turning his head towards Dudley as he spoke.

“About what?” his cousin asked, coming to a stop behind him as they reached the top of the stairs.

Harry gestured vaguely to the house around them. “Protection spells. It’s why the house feels different. You can’t really tell, but if you were looking for it, you might have felt the touch of the magic. I wouldn’t be able to apparate inside the house, for example.” At Dudley’s blank look, he clarified, “I mean I wouldn’t be able to appear inside the house. I’d have to come in through the door like anyone else.”

“You can teleport?” Dudley asked, looked awed.

Harry vaguely recognized the term from science fiction he’d come into contact with as a child, and nodded. “Yeah, sort of. Close enough, anyway. There’s also a spell here blocking a summoning charm, which is what I was using on the broom. It probably only moved at all because it’s practically an extension of me already.”

“It didn’t move a lot, but it was still noisy,” Dudley said, looking amused. “You’re dead lucky Mum and Dad never heard it.”

Stopping in front of his old bedroom door, Harry hesitated for a split second before turning the knob and moving inside. It looked exactly as he’d left it, save for the Firebolt pinned in place under his trunk. Harry made straight for the broom, tugging it out and running his hand over the smooth wood. He could feel himself grinning, and he made no attempt to stop.

“Is it a nice one?” Dudley asked from behind him. “I mean, I don’t know anything about magic brooms, or non-magic ones, come to that, but I imagine there’s different sorts, kind of like bikes, right?”

Harry actually felt amused by the comparison, and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not far off actually. This is a racing broom, and it’s the best money can buy. Sirius said it was to make up for all the birthdays he’d missed when I was young. I don’t know if there’s something fancier out now, but even if there was, I wouldn’t want it.” He gave the broom a fond smile. “It’s the best I’ve ever had, and it’s practically like another limb.” He would have been more upset by its loss at the time if he hadn’t also lost Hedwig, and soon after discovered the loss of Mad-Eye.

“So, do you, like, properly race on that thing?” Dudley asked, looking like he was unsure exactly what he intended to ask.

“I use it to play a sort of magic sport,” Harry clarified. “I was actually captain of the team, last year. Er, last school year, anyway. Not this past year, obviously.”

Dudley just nodded, seeming to understand what Harry meant. “I didn’t realize you were an athlete,” he commented.

“Since my first year at Hogwarts, actually,” Harry commented lightly. He didn’t think it was really possible to brag about his skill at Quidditch to someone who didn’t understand it, so he didn’t go into much detail. Still, athleticism was something Dudley could understand, being a boxer, and he did look suitably impressed.

“Suppose that’s just something else for me to learn about,” he said. “Er, what do you want to do with your trunk? And the broom, actually. If we’re going out to dinner-” he cut himself off, looking a little puzzled.

Harry hadn’t exactly considered the logistical problem that was getting his trunk to go anywhere, but he thought of a solution almost immediately. “Don’t freak out, all right?” He warned his cousin, who immediately looked warry. Deciding not to bother reassuring him, Harry simply called out, “Kreacher!”

The aged house elf appeared immediately, immune, as Harry had assumed, to whatever charm it was that prevented Harry himself from apparating in or out of the house. “Master Harry,” Kreacher greeted him, looking pleased to have been summoned.

“What _is_ that?” Dudley asked, looking more astonished than freaked out, which Harry supposed was a manageable reaction.

“This is Kreacher,” Harry explained, gesturing between the house elf and his cousin. “Kreacher, this is my cousin Dudley.” Glancing to his cousin, he added, “Kreacher works for me.”

“You’ve got employees?” Dudley asked, bewildered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not exactly, and it’s just Kreacher.” He felt odd standing over his house elf with Dudley standing behind him, looking so much bigger, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Look, Kreacher, this is my old school trunk. It’s got pretty much everything I couldn’t take with me last year in it, and I’d like to sort through it at some point. Do you think you could take it back to the house for me?”

Kreacher looked at Harry with a sort of derision that was more amusing than it was concerning. “Of course Kreacher can take Master’s trunk. Where would Master like it?”

“Er, in Sirius’ old room, I suppose,” Harry replied, having not really given it much thought. “Thanks, Kreacher.”

The house elf gave a small bow, then grasped the handle of the trunk firmly and vanished with and audible ‘crack,’ along with the trunk.

Dudley just stood there for a second, then turned to blink at Harry. “And that was?”

“He’s a house elf,” Harry explained. “In my world, some families have them to do chores and stuff. Kreacher served my godfather’s family, who were mostly completely evil. Actually, it’s partly Kreacher’s fault that Sirius is dead.” Harry had mostly forgiven the house elf at this point, but it would probably always be a sore point he would have to force himself past.

“How is it that he’s serving you now?” Dudley asked, seeming genuinely interested.

“When Sirius died, he left me his house and all his possessions, which technically included Kreacher. With some encouragement from a friend, I started trying to treat him better than he had been, and sort of won his loyalty I guess.” Harry shrugged, feeling awkward trying to explain house elf and wizard relations to his Muggle cousin.

“Huh.” Dudley glanced at the empty space where the trunk had been, the shrugged. “So you’ve got your own house, then.”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, blinking in mild surprise at the slight change in subject. “It’s where I went to stay a few years ago, after the Dementor attack.”

Dudley clearly remembered the word, and he shuddered briefly before gesturing to the open door. “Ready for dinner?” he asked, looking eager to be off.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Harry followed Dudley back downstairs, broom in hand. “Where d’you want to eat?”

“There’s a pub in the village,” Dudley offered, seeming ambivalent. “I figured that was easiest, plus we can walk.”

Harry nodded. “Why don’t you head over?” He suggested. “I’ll go drop this off,” he brandished the broom, “in my tent, then meet you there.”

Dudley glanced at him, as though weighing the likelihood of Harry taking off now that he had what he’d come for. “Yeah, all right,” he finally said.

“See you soon,” Harry promised, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “If you beat me there, you can order drinks. I’ll just have whatever you think is good.” Harry had spent almost no time in Muggle restaurants, even before finding out he was a wizard, so he was unused to drinking anything that wasn’t either water or a type of wizard beverage.

Dudley nodded, and opened the front door, gesturing for Harry to go past him. “Go on, I’ve just got to lock up.”

Harry tossed the Invisibility Cloak over himself and cast the disillusionment charm he’d learned years before on the Firebolt itself. The cloak would cover it, but he didn’t want to risk anything since it was still light out. “See you,” he said to Dudley, who blinked at the absence of his cousin and waved in the wrong direction.

Chuckling to himself, Harry mounted his broom and took off. The rush that filled him at being back in the air was more enthralling then he could have ever imagined. He flew straight up at first, doing a few twirls and remembering abruptly that he was wearing his cloak when he had to grasp the edges to keep it from flying off of him. Speeding off towards his tent, he did a few more trick turns and swoops as he went, relishing the feeling.

The only sensation better than being on his broom was knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he could match flying skills against Ginny, which sent an entirely different sort of sensation through his stomach and heart.

As he approached his tent, Harry dove steeply, relishing the wind, then pulled up at the last second, slowing to a stop just inches from his tent, the flaps of which rustled in the wind he’d created. Hoping off his broom, he removed the charm and headed inside, setting the Firebolt in what was ostensibly the living room. He’d definitely be back for it later, but for now he had a cousin to meet.

Adjusting the Invisibility Cloak to make sure it still covered all of him, Harry headed out of the tent and disapparated, appearing behind one of the buildings in the village square. He removed the cloak and replaced it in the rucksack, then walked to the front of the building, which turned out to be the post office. It had been a while since he’d been in the village square, but he’d been reasonably sure of its general layout. He’d had to be, or disapparating would have been foolhardy.

He caught site of Dudley rounding the corner to The Golden Pheasant, which Harry had walked past but never been inside. He crossed the street with a quick glance to ensure there was no traffic, catching up to his cousin quickly.

“Just in time,” he said as he fell into stride beside Dudley, who startled a little at Harry’s abrupt appearance.

“Should’ve known I wouldn’t beat you,” Dudley admitted grudgingly, though he didn’t really seem resentful. “C’mon, I could eat a whole pig.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, doing his best to avoid making the sort of remark that would have earned him a punishment as a kid if Vernon had heard.

Dudley caught sight of the look on Harry’s face and surprised his cousin by bursting into laughter. “Not a word out of you,” he huffed, with no actual threat in his tone.

Surprised by the reaction, Harry found himself relaxing. Perhaps dinner with Dudley wouldn’t be an awkward affair after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite it being dinner time, there was no wait at the pub, and Harry and Dudley were seated immediately. Ordering drinks took a moment, as Dudley explained all the different options in terms of how appealing or foul he thought they were. Amused, Harry ended up ordering some sort of whiskey that sounded similar enough to drinks he knew he liked. Dudley made a face and ordered a pint of some local beer. Food was easier. There, the wizarding world hadn't taken such massive leaps away from everyone in terms of creative development. Dudley ordered a burger, and Harry a roast chicken dish. With all the basics out of the way, the two young men were left alone, with no further distractions from their impending conversation.

"So," Dudley offered, looking shy all of a sudden, "where do you even begin with your story?"

On impulse, Harry discretely cast two of his favourite charms for discretion, ignoring Dudley's widening eyes when he realized what Harry was doing. Tucking his wand away, Harry addressed his actions with, "Just charms to insure we aren't overheard." He took a deep breath and shifted forward in his chair, leaning on his elbows. "I'd say we ought to start at the beginning, but you know bits of that already."

"How about I tell you what I know, or at least have figured out, and you can fill in the gaps?" Dudley stated his suggestion as a question, his expression clearly one seeking approval.

"Yeah, go on then." Harry found himself playing with his fingers and folded his hands to keep them still.

"Your parents were both magical." Dudley stated, his gaze shifting around to make sure no one was listening to him, despite Harry's precautions. "Somehow, they ended up on the wrong side of this evil wizard bloke, and he killed them, but ran off without killing you. You didn't have anyone who could take care of you, so the old professor brought you to us. How am I doing so far?"

Harry inclined his head. "Mostly right. How much detail do you want? There's so much, and I don't want to keep you hear all night."

Dudley shrugged. "I don't know, just the important bits? Maybe that doesn't help. I bet it's all important."

Harry snorted lightly. "Yeah, it feels that way sometimes. All right, well, like I said, you got most of that right, except that Voldemort was there to kill me, not my parents." Harry gave a wry smile when Dudley's eyes went wide. "I didn't know about this until a few years ago, but someone made a prophecy that a boy who fit certain criteria would be Voldemort's downfall. My parents had been fighting him during his initial reign of terror, and I fit the criteria. A friend of mine fit it too, actually, but Voldemort decided it meant me. Technically, in choosing to try and kill me, he created the means of his end. Regardless, he killed my parents trying to get to me." Harry paused, trying to detach himself from the emotion so he could get through the tail. He still felt cheated of a proper childhood. Especially after seeing his parents in the woods, before he'd died...

"I didn't realize," Dudley said, a little awed. "I just thought it was bad luck. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Thanks, Dudley." A smile made its way onto Harry's face, and he relaxed a little.

"Not to push past that or anything, cause I don't mean to me rude, but how come he didn't kill you, if that's what he was there for?" Dudley's brow was furrowed as he asked.

"My mum died in the act of defending me." Harry explained. "It's sort of like her love created a protective shield. When Voldemort tried to kill me, his spell basically bounced back and hit him instead. He'd split up his soul though, so it didn't fully kill him. It did make him weak enough to need to flee and not be seen again for over a decade."

"He did what?" Dudley asked, mystified. "He split his soul?"

"I can explain that part now, or we can revisit it once it's relevant." Harry shrugged. "I told you this was a long story."

"All right, we can come back to it." Dudley groused. "Why'd you end up with us if an evil wizard wanted you dead anyway? Wouldn't the magical world be safer?"

"Aunt Petunia." Harry replied. "Because she's a blood relative of my mum, living in her house made the protection provided by my mum's death that much stronger."

"I think I actually get it." Dudley said, looking pleased with himself. "I mean, not everything, obviously, but that made sense."

"I'm glad," Harry said wryly, amused.

Dudley opened his mouth to say something else, but paused when the waitress brought their drinks. He immediately took a swig of the beer, which seemed to settle him slightly.

Harry sipped at the whiskey. "Not bad," he noted, eyeing the amber liquid appreciatively. He pushed it to the side slightly to wait for his food.

"So, what I've always wanted to know," Dudley announced, grasping his beer with both hands, "is does that school of yours always harass kids with such a crazy amount of letters?"

Harry laughed out loud, leaning back in his hilarity and having to grab the edge of the table to balance himself. Wiping his watering eyes, Harry grinned at his cousin. "Honestly, I think that was completely Uncle Vernon's fault."

Dudley's brow furrowed. "How d'you mean?"

"If he'd just given me the letter, that would've been that." Harry explained. "Instead, he kept getting rid of them. I never actually asked, but knowing what I do about magic nowadays, I'd guess that the letters are charmed to get to the intended recipient one way or another, and the methods just increase in intensity the longer that objective is postponed. I doubt a Hogwarts letter has ever had such a massive challenge as Uncle Vernon. Thankfully, Hagrid came along before things could get weirder."

"The big guy." Dudley's face was not projecting the impression he remember the groundskeeper fondly.

"He's a sweetheart," Harry insisted, trying to keep his amusement at the memory of Dudley and Hagrid's first meeting at bay. "Honestly, he only did it because you wound him up so badly. He's not normally so, well, trigger happy, but then, he is rather fond of me."

"What does he do, anyway?" Dudley asked, curious in spite of himself.

"He's kind of like Hogwarts' caretaker." Harry explained. "He takes care of the grounds, the creatures, and a few years ago he started teaching as well. This last year, well, I just hope he still has a heart for it, because nobody can really make students care about magical creatures the way he can."

Dudley looked startled. "What, your lot have their own animals?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We've got our own everything, more or less."

"Money? Toys? Transport? Sweets? Government? Music?" Dudley's eyes got steadily bigger as he named off all the things he could think of that were conceivably of some importance.

"Yes to all of that."

"Whoa."

Harry had a sudden desire to provide Dudley with a few odd magical sweets that wouldn't behave as expected. 

"So what was school like? Loads of friends straight off?" Dudley almost looked wistful, which maybe wasn't such a huge surprise, when Harry thought about it. Dudley hadn't really had friends, as far as Harry'd ever known. He'd mostly had followers.

Harry scratched at his head. "The weird thing I have to explain about that is that I'm famous."

"I did pick up on that." Dudley said sarcastically. "What with the magical guards I had last year going on about how amazing you were all the time."

Harry snorted. "No, I mean properly. When the most evil wizard of an age, maybe even ever, is effectively beaten by failing to murder an infant, that infant become proper famous. I've never met a single person in the wizarding world who hasn't heard of me." Harry saw as the real impact of that started to dawn on his cousin.

"Every single magical person knows who you are." Dudley repeated it, seeming both awed and skeptical at the same time.

"Well, every magical person in Britain." Harry amended. "I imagine plenty of magical folk in the rest of the world do too, but Voldemort was mostly threatening us, not the world at large. Not yet, anyway."

"Still, that's bloody-" Dudley cut himself off, not seeming to be able to come up with the right word. "It's bloody something, is what it is. Was that a good thing or a bad thing for you? My first instinct is to think it's awesome, but I'm imagining that it was a bit of a curse." His expression was so contemplative that lines were forming in his forehead.

"It was mostly weird, that first year." Harry allowed himself to be nostalgic for a time when he was not get in genuine fear for his life. "With magic, people can be sort of elitist. I'm what's called a half-blood, because my mum was muggle-born, that is, a magic child from a family without magic. Dad was a pure-blood, which means he and all of his ancestors had magic. Some people get really hung up on how magical your lineage is, and they can be real prats about it. I bring it up because there was this boy at school who approached me on our first day, determined to align himself with me because I was famous. I'd already met him and I didn't like him, so I turned down his offer. We...let's just say we didn't get on. In any case, he was a pure-blood, and he made it his mission to go after my two best friends all the time. Hermione, who's one of the smartest people I've ever met, is muggle-born, so he called her foul names and discredited her at every turn. Ron is a pure-blood, but his family have always been very muggle friendly and not prejudiced at all, so that makes him a traitor to pure-bloods like this guy at school. As an aside, his father's loads worse than he is. I'm sort of holding out hope that he'll turn around, now that he's seen just how destructive those kinds of ideas are."

Dudley was squinting hard, looking perplexed. "Let me get this straight. In your fancy advanced magical society, you've got a whole lot of snooty blood racists?"

Huffing a laugh, Harry nodded. "Yeah, basically. That's kind of the ideology Voldemort was born from, that some wizards are inherently better than others. Of course, he was a half-blood like me."

"Weird." Dudley took another swig of his beer, setting it down and brushing off some of the condensation. "So, you mentioned two friends. Was that it? Surely the famous get groupies, even in the magic world."

Harry held up his hand and wagged it side to side. "Sort of. That kind of thing seemed to wax and wane depending on what else was going on. That first year, most of the kids figured out pretty quickly that I had no idea what I was doing, so there was no real advantage to being friends with me. Ron didn't really care that I was famous, so we got on, and Hermione only cared in that it was notable I was mentioned in her textbooks once or twice." Harry shrugged. "I've never really been the type to have patience with groupies."

"You said you were an athlete though," Dudley remembered, "and a good one, if you were captain of the team. Don't magic athletes get groupies?"

Harry did the 'sort of' motion with his hand again. "I mean, my house was happy when I won, and I was respected by most of my classmates and teachers, but I didn't exactly have the pro leagues knocking on my door. My girlfriend though," Harry grinned, "she's got a future as a Quidditch star." He wondered if it was presumptuous to call Ginny his girlfriend, but decided not to correct himself. They had enough of an understanding that it seemed accurate.

"You've got a girlfriend?" Dudley asked, completely derailed by that revelation. "For how long? And if she's so good, how come she's not captain?"

"We've known each other since my second year at school, although we did meet very briefly once before that. We dated a little last year, then I broke up with her before I went on the run so I could keep her safe. We've only just sort of officially decided to resume dating." Harry scratched at his neck. "She's actually Ron's little sister, so I've been friends with her for years. As far as Quidditch, she's fantastic, but so am I." Was that bragging? He wasn't sure. "I was captain because I'd been on the team longer than she had at that point. If I really wanted to go pro, honestly I probably could get myself taken seriously for that, but I don't want it. I love the game, but that's not really a career path I can see for myself. Ginny's really got the competitive edge to be good at that though, and she'd love it. She's got another year at school, so maybe the leagues will come calling if she has a really stellar upcoming season."

"Good for you." Dudley said approvingly, raising his beer glass. "Got yourself a badass girlfriend, sounds like."

"I'm lucky she's put up with me this whole time." Harry agreed, clinking glasses with Dudley and taking another sip of whiskey.

"That first year at school, did anything big and magical and exciting happen?" Dudley asked, looking expectant.

"Oh, sure," Harry said easily, "that year was the second time Voldemort tried to kill me."

Dudley started choking on his beer, but was forced to swallow any follow up questions when their waitress reappeared, two plates balanced on her arm.

"I've got the blue cheese burger and the roast chicken for you boys!" She chirped, setting the plates down.

Dudley watched the woman as she strolled away, completely ignoring his burger. As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned back to his cousin with wide eyes. "How many times did this guy try to off you, Harry?"

"Directly or indirectly?" Harry asked wryly. It almost felt like a relief to be a bit blasé about his multiple near death experiences. Voldemort was well and truly dead now, and Harry could move on, feel safe, and not have to be anxious when discussing the times his enemy had come after him. It was a liberating sensation.

Dudley's mouth was still open in surprise. "Right, well, I want to know exactly how oblivious I've been, so lay it on me. What happened that first year at school? You seemed in one piece when you got back!"

Harry stabbed a bit of chicken with his fork, took a breath, and began the story of Fluffy and the trap door. 


End file.
